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By Flying Pen

My name is Scott, and I have a smoking fetish. My girlfriend's name is Colby; she's an artist who has a bit of a local name, and we've been going out for almost a year and a half. We met at a nightclub: Colby had just moved to town and was being shown around the neighborhood by her roommate, while I was watching one of the bands I manage. As a part-time extra income job, it's perfect for a fetishist because, in essence, I get paid to look at many lovely women as they smoke. Colby immediately caught my attention because she was smoking More menthol 120's. I took one look at this slender young woman with black hair as she held a long brown cigarette between her fingers, and was madly in lust. She would pause after each drag, seeming to relax and enjoy the smoke, then exhale without urgency and a smile on her face. In short, her demeanor made me overcome my usual shyness, and I introduced myself.
Since she was so new to the area, it was easy to strike up a conversation with her, and to get a date "to show her a little more of the city." Colby's very outgoing and very easy to get along with, and she is a fun person. A strange thing happened when I ran out of interesting places to show her: we kept going out. I loved to watch her smoke, and I loved the way she handled snide remarks about her brown cigarettes. This was one classy, self-assured woman. After a while, Colby seemed to be quite sure of one more thing: that I was her boyfriend. She introduced me as such to the local arts supporters at her first show, then asked me as I drove her home if I had any complaints about it. "Nope. None whatsoever." I never made it back to my place that night.
That took place about a year ago. Our relationship had been going so well that I felt it was time to tell Colby about the fetish. She hadn't ever mentioned noticing it or anything, but I felt it was something she should know. I told her about it last month. She knew something was going on when she saw the dinner I had prepared. Our after-dinner conversation started with Colby asking, "So, are you going to tell me you're married or something?"
I cleared my throat. "Colby... I want to tell you something about me. It's something... private, but we've been going out long enough that I think you should know." She looked surprised, and waved her hand at me to continue. "I have a smoking fetish," I declared, and waited for the puzzlement to finish its trip across her face. "I get turned on by watching women smoke."
"Really." Colby regarded me strangely and seemed to be looking for something else to say. The room was silent for a few more seconds. "You mean that every time I light up one of my Mores, you get the hots for me?"
"Well, not always, but, yeah. You smoke in a very sexy fashion," I admitted. "That was one of the things that gave me the courage to talk to you out of the blue in the first place. It kept me from being thoroughly intimidated by how beautiful you are." I was a little worried because Colby still had a strange expression on her face that gave me no clue about what she was thinking.
"I see," she finally said. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a fresh pack of Mores. "So, like, if I light up now, you'll be crazed with lust and desire by the time I finish it." I nodded slowly, even if it was an oversimplification. Colby opened the pack and lit one, taking a drag. She crossed her legs and faced me, leaning slightly, with the cigarette held high between limp wristed fingers, off to the side. "Now I've heard every- thing," she muttered, before puffing again in her usual deliberate fashion. My mind was a blank, turned into mush by the fantastic picture Colby presented. "Well, I originally picked Mores because they looked distinctive. This is really too much," she giggled. Colby studied me for an instant, then took another classy drag and exhaled a long, slow, thick line of smoke through pursed lips. "So let me get this straight. You want me more now than you did a few minutes ago." I nodded again. She raised her eyebrows and asked, "Does this happen for any woman who you see smoking?" Colby leaned forward, a gleam of interest and curiosity in her eyes.
"No... not at all. They have to do it right, and... and. ...it's real complicated to explain. The short version is that I like women with long cigarettes, or cigarette holders, or cigarettes that are black or brown, as long as they smoke in a feminine fashion," I blurted out.
"And I obviously qualify on all counts," she quietly said, half to herself. Colby turned to face me and announced, "I think this could be real fun, Scott. A whole lot of fun." She gave me an impish, playful smile. Then she turned and gave me a profile view of the most luxurious, artistic, lady-like drag and long, extended exhale. Colby didn't make it home that night.
She showed up without warning about two weeks later, dressed to kill. Colby was wearing evening gloves with a satin-like black gown that hugged her body, faux- diamond earrings and necklace, and high heels. I opened the door and saw this awesomely sexy, incredibly gorgeous, elegant woman and her 12-inch red cigarette holder with a freshly lit More in it. When we got around to talking about it later, I asked her, "Where did you find the holder?"
"Did you like it?" Colby teased. I raised my hands as if to say, "what do you think?" She laughed. "Well, I went looking around in tobacco stores; there's one that carries a bunch of them. I bought three," she grinned. "Then I was at Java Surf late last night, and ran into Phil--you remember, my computer hacker friend. He was prattling on about all the sex groups on the Internet and how he had to show me this and that and suddenly I was looking at something called alt.sex.fetish.smoking." Colby paused. "Once I got some privacy, I found a terminal and did some looking. Some guy actually wrote something that tells you how to fix holders so skinnier cigarettes don't fall out." She gave me a peck on the cheek. "So I spent two hours today trying to get this holder to hold Mores."
"Was it worth it?"
Colby swung her legs over the side of the bed, retrieved the holder, and wiggled a More into it. "Da-a-ah-ling, give me a light, and I'll let you know tomorrow morning," she said with a mischievous grin.
Colby apparently decided it was worth it. She came over the next night with her other two holders: a six-inch black one with a gold bowl, and a five-inch white one with rhinestones. She also handed me a copy of the "Cigarette Holder FAQ" from the Internet. "I'd be happy to smoke for you using a holder, but if you wanna watch me do it, then you're gonna have to set them up. I can't walk around in public with a foot-long red holder all the time," she grinned. "However, my Bohemian artiste image might be enhanced if I were to use one of a more- -reasonable--length in public from time to time..." Colby's eyes sparkled, and her voice held more than a hint of come-hither. By the time I had finished day- dreaming about being out in public with Colby using a cigarette holder, she was handing me some tools and chirping, "It's amazing what you find around an art studio. I've got everything here the guy says you need." Colby sat on the sofa. "I'll even keep you company while you work.But I won't have a cigarette until you've finished. I don't want you getting distracted."
I read the information on modifying holders, and picked up one to work on it. Colby began, "So, you liked it when you saw me smoking my Mores..." I said, "yes," as I was starting to hollow out the bowl of the black holder. "You know that I didn't even start smoking until I got to college? My roommate was a social smoker and frat butterfly. She never went to a party without her Virginia Slims Lights menthols. Since I was the shy freshman, she was sort of my... mentor, and pretty soon, I was smoking them with her." Colby relaxed and crossed her legs. She had noticed that I was paying more than a little attention to her story. "I went from a social smoker to a regular smoker over that summer. I started to come out of my "shy" shell, and my Virginia Slims Lights menthols were always there. They were a part of what put me in the "popular" group at home, the ones that smoked and did all the "bad" things."
"I only smoked Virginia Slims Lights menthols, though. Sometimes I'd smoke the ultra light ones, if I was feeling guilty about smoking.It never really crossed my mind to try anything else. Until I was a junior, and becoming the enfant terrible of the art school," Colby said. "I was such a little bitch in those days, just because I had had this major write-up in a small art journal. Fame and a big head and all that.I smoked unfiltered Camels for a half-year, trying to be the tough, androgynous, new wave punk artist. After my grades dropped, I left school to work for a year, and decided that I really did enjoy being a girl. An eccentric one, granted," she smiled. I was making progress, working at hollowing out the piece of plastic that would hold Mores.
"So, I wound up smoking Salem Slim Lights, because I bummed them from a friend of mine so often that I just started buying them and we'd share cartons." She paused, obviously thinking. "Once, we were broke, and the store had a special on Virginia Slims Lights. The only menthol ones they had left were 120's. She and I pooled our money to buy them. We both liked them, so we became the "120's smokers." Most of our smoking friends made some comment about how long they were." Colby pointed to her holder. I held it up and she nodded, eyes sparkling. "That looks nice, Scott."
"So how did you wind up smoking More menthols?" I asked, genuinely curious, and slightly excited by her story.
Colby thought for a second. "Well, I moved to the east coast after graduation, and promptly got a sponsor. His wife smoked More menthols. I was staying in their little carriage house and had run out of mine late one night, so I asked her for a pack. I asked her about them, 'cause I'd never really known anybody who smoked them. She commented that they looked distinctive, in addition to having a real kick, and remarked that image sometimes played better than talent in her town. It was originally just for the look, a career move, I guess. But I found that I liked More menthols. So, I've been smoking them for three years or so. And that's how Miss Colby here got your attention. It's 'cause she's an image-conscious attention slut. They make me get noticed." I held up the finished holder. "Is it ready? Good. I'm dying for a cigarette after talking about smoking so much," Colby said. She put the long brown cigarette into it and lit it. "Not bad... it seems to work okay." She waved the holder around. "It fits real well." Colby took an ex- tended draw, then exhaled an extremely long, narrow stream of smoke. "It works for me, Scott," she said, as she walked to my bedroom and checked her appearance in the mirror. She came back into the living room. I spent five minutes watching her smoke through that holder be- fore announcing that setting up the other one would have to wait. Colby didn't object at all.
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one.
Early last week, Colby had come over for dinner. After- wards, as was becoming her custom, she pulled out a More put it in her black holder and lit it. "Guess what, Scott? I noticed something the other day," she said excitedly. "I realized that several of my friends smoke 120's. It never dawned on me before. Guess I just noticed because of your fetish. Pretty strange, huh?" My eyes must have glazed over, because Colby gave me one of those strange looks. "Wait a minute," she mumbled, "that's not strange to you--it's exciting!" She had correctly deduced my emotional state. "Scott, please don't take this the wrong way, but I gotta ask--does the thought of watching three or four women smoking 120's all night excite you?"
"Yeah," I admitted, wondering why Colby had asked, "as long as they are--feminine about it."
"Well, none of them--" Colby stopped in mid-sentence to take a lust-inspiring, posed drag from her holder. She gave me a sly smile before continuing, "--Smokes as well as I do, of course, but they're all definitely feminine." She finished her cigarette with a deep, cheek- hollowing draw and slow, creamy nasal exhale. "Would it inspire you for them or for me?"
"You're my girlfriend." It was a little difficult to think right then. "I mean, you're the one that is aware of my fetish and has fun playing with it." I looked right into Colby's twinkling, dark eyes. "Like just now," I pointedly added.
"Then I have a proposition for you," she stated. "If your bands can get along without you next Saturday night, we can go to a party where you can watch them. If you're a good boy, I may even get them to talk about their smoking. Then we'll see what happens--after the party." Colby had a distinctly lecherous grin on her beautiful face.
"Without telling them about--"
"I won't mention a word to them about what it does for you. We'll just let things happen--naturally," Colby said. "Trust me. I have a lot to gain from it." The grin spread wider. I wiped it off her face with a deep kiss. Man, was it ever tough to get out of bed and go to work the next morning!
The party was held at a huge, ritzy house. It was for the artists and people that worked at Colby's studio, and its supporters. People were dressed up, people were dressed down, and there were a few that were downright grungy. Colby spent a good part of the early evening introducing me to people that she worked with or this person that bought one of her works or that person who supports the studio. I didn't see any smokers in the crowd during the buffet dinner. Colby pulled me aside after dinner, and said, "I'm going to retire to the lounge for a cigarette." Somewhat unnecessarily, she added, "Would you care to join me?"
We walked through a set of double doors and found ourselves on a spacious screened porch, with tables and chairs. "Welcome to the smoking room!" a female voice said from over in the corner. Colby gave a squeak of surprise and sprinted for the woman who had just spoken. "Colby, darling! How are you?" A willowy woman with dark hair hugged my girlfriend.
"Cindy!!! It's been ages and a half a country since I last saw you! This is my boyfriend, Scott," Colby said. I shook hands with Cindy. Colby and I sat at the table, and she pulled out her newest holder, a telescoping silver one, about three inches long. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped it out to its fully extended seven inch length.
"Still the stylish one, I see," Cindy laughed, as Colby put a More into the holder. "Nice fashion touch, dear. It makes you look even more the eccentric artiste." Cindy sat and grabbed her purse while I lit Colby's cigarette. She pulled out a pack of Max 120's, and I lit hers as well. "I must say that it was nice of the Grahams to have a smoking room for us," Cindy said. She drew on the Max and pushed her chest forward as she exhaled. "Colby, sweets, I'm going to be moving here as the new artist-in-residence at the university!"
Colby gave me a surreptitious squeeze, knowing I hadn't heard a word that Cindy had said, then exhaled slowly through her nose. "Fantastic! It'll be like old times again, won't it?" she laughed. "Except of course, I am off the market these days." Cindy nodded and the two women descended into chatter about the old days. I didn't care. I watched Colby's friend handle the long, slim cigarette with a carefree style. Cindy would crane her neck forward a bit before easing her chest forward and lazily pushing the smoke from her mouth. I watched Colby and her telescoping holder with an almost hypnotic fascination. I thought I was in heaven. I was wrong. I hadn't even gotten close yet.
"Hi Colby! Mind if I join you and Scott and..." Paula had arrived, and introductions were made anew. She was short, very slender, and had blonde hair. I had met Paula before. Colby had told me that Paula was the youngest artist in the studio. She was an improving photographer being sponsored by a married couple for whom she occasionally served as a sex toy. The young, petite blonde pulled out a pack of Capri 120 menthols. I raised my eyebrows, because the only time I had seen Paula, she was smoking Virginia Slim Light menthols. "Colby, I like the holder. Mondo cool," Paula said after I lit her extremely slender, long cigarette. I was getting more excited by the minute, barely managing to keep my fantasies in check.
By the end of the next hour, I had met four more 120 smokers. There was Lisa, Paula's best friend, who smoked Virginia Slims 120's menthol. Christie was a graphic artist who rented space at the studio. She jokingly told me, "I actually get paid for what I draw," before I lit her Virginia Slims 120 regular. Christie had long, curly brown hair that spilled below her shoulders, and took long, deliberate, deep drags. I made a note to watch her carefully.
Tanya had come out to the porch to smoke. I already knew her. She was the co-owner of Java Surf, the combination coffee house and Internet crossroads. I hadn't known that Tanya smoked, but she did so quite nicely, taking long, slow draws on an Eve 120 menthol before tossing her head and thick, jet-black hair, then exhaling billowing clouds skyward. Her exotic Eastern European facial features and soft, round, yet petite body made for an image that made me sweat. Finally, Meghan, a tall, green-eyed blonde in her early thirties stepped onto the porch and joined the crowd. Meghan was the administrative assistant to the director of the studio. She was wholly responsible for scheduling and only less slightly responsible for everything else involved in running the studio. Meghan pulled out a pack of More White Light 120's menthol, and took a deep draw, turned her head leisurely to the side, then exhaled a fine, thin stream of smoke. Now I was in heaven.
People circulated on and off the porch for the next couple of hours; the host had hired a band to provide entertainment after dinner. Colby and I bounced back and forth between the dance floor and the patio. We were having fun, and I even managed to keep my mind off the spectacle of all those attractive 120 smokers for the most part. After she and I were exhausted from dancing, Colby waved me out to the patio. We sat and kissed for a little while. "So, it seems that you got a bonus. I never expected Cindy to be here," she quietly said. "Did all those pretty women smokers get your blood going?" she grinned. It was getting late, and we were the only people on the patio for a while.