The Way It Never Was, Part 2

The following story is fictional and is provided solely for the enjoyment 
of its readers. While there are references to actual businesses and 
locations, the characters in the story are entirely fictional. Any 
resemblance to a real person either living or dead is completely 
coincidental. This fictional account does contain adult language and 
themes. If such language and themes offend you, please read no further. 
This story is copyrighted by AZ-MAN, 2002 all rights reserved. Permission 
is granted to reproduce it in any form and for any purpose as long as this 
notice is reproduced and no financial remuneration is received, directly or 
indirectly, by the person reproducing it. 

The Way It Never Was 

2. My Wife Renee 



I wish I could say that I married Michelle Meekin and that we ended up 
happily ever after. That wouldn't be close - not by a mile. The sad truth 
was, I married the former Renee Kirkpatrick of the Augusta Kirkpatricks in 
1984 and divorced her in 1999. Not that her family was famous or anything - 
they just had some money and clung to the status of being a semi-prominent 
family in a small town. The "Augusta Kirkpatricks" title was my invention. 
I used to kid Renee about it. Sometimes she took it well, other times it 
just pissed her off, depending on her mood. 

Renee and I were married shortly after we graduated from UGA. We were 
engaged for about a year. The culmination was when her family threw for us 
one of the biggest weddings Augusta had ever seen. It was much too 
pretentious for my side of the family. We probably had more money than the 
Kirkpatricks but that was just Renee's dad's style. He liked to show off 
what he had and wanted as many people as possible to see it. I always hated 
him for that. The wedding probably set him back seventy grand. I remember 
during the reception when everyone was a little tipsy from champagne my 
mother went up to Mr. Kirkpatrick and said something like, "It's such a 
shame that you didn't throw a smaller party and let the kids keep the 
difference as a bonus - God knows they could use it." That was the first 
salvo in the in-law's cold war that would last the next 14 years. Mr. 
Kirkpatrick just humphed away. Later, when my mom first heard we were 
splitting up, she said to me, "You know, I never liked that family anyway." 
Really, mom? You could've fooled me- Renee and I always felt we could 
survive the family's petty differences, and for a long time we did. We were 
in love and that truly did sustain us, even through some of our bitterest 
fights. 

Renee and I met after one of the UGA, Georgia Tech football games at a 
party. I was captivated by her beautiful hazel eyes, her long, wispy 
ash-blond hair and the fact that she was only one of a handful of women 
majoring in electrical engineering. After we'd been dating for about six 
months, I knew I would eventually ask her to marry me because I felt I 
could tell her anything. It was during this time, one evening while we were 
alone in her tiny apartment flopped on the couch, that I shared my little 
secret. We were getting very intimate, telling each other our turn-ons and 
turn-offs when I simply blurted out that I thought it was sexy, under the 
right conditions, to see a nice looking woman smoke. After I said this, I 
froze, hearing my own heartbeat rise, and waited for her reaction. I had 
never confessed this hidden fact to anyone, ever. 

Renee wrinkled her brow. "Really?" She sounded neither intrigued nor put 
off. 

"Yeah. Strange, huh?" I responded. 

"I don't know. Do you think it's strange?" 

"I don't know," I said. I could see this conversation was going no where. 
Since I felt that I had taken a very major step in revealing an important 
yet latent characteristic in my sexual makeup I was determined to not let 
it die. I continued, "Before we actually started talking at that party 
(where we met), I noticed you smoking. Do you remember that?" I certainly 
did. I remembered it vividly from the moment I saw her. However, she never 
smoked the rest of that evening nor ever again in my presence. Even as we 
dated, I looked for telltale signs that she was smoking but never found 
any. 

"I was smoking?" she asked incredulously but she was smiling. 

"Yes. Before I came up to you." I couldn't believe she was denying it. I 
took her coy smile as positive. 

"Oh, I probably was. I've tried one every now and then at parties but I've 
never smoked two cigarettes in one evening. In fact, I don't even remember 
the last time I smoked-certainly not since I've met you." 

Well, there it was - the unvarnished truth. It hurt to hear yet deep down I 
knew I had every reason to believe her reply. She wouldn't lie. Still, I 
couldn't just let our conversation move on. "Why not?" I asked. "Are you 
saying you don't smoke anymore because of me?" 

She smiled but let out a quick sigh - the same sigh of frustration I'd come 
to hear for many years to come. "I don't know. I never really smoked in the 
first place. I just don't think about it." She paused but after a moment of 
silence continued, "What? You want to see me smoke again - is that it?" 

I could tell she was either not comfortable with the conversation or very 
surprised that I seemed to want her to smoke (again). I wanted to do 
everything possible to keep my inquiry low-key but not let it die. 

"Well, sometime maybe. But I don't want you doing it unless you also want 
to. It's no big deal." Ha. It was a VERY BIG deal but now that I could read 
her mood, I was willing to give her an easy out. 

And she took it. "I really don't want to. Not right now, anyway. Can we 
talk about something else? Pretty please?" 

So we did. 

And that was our first conversation on smoking. It happened very near to 
our six-month anniversary of meeting each other. After that night, I 
thought Renee would never smoke for me but even so, I was still very much 
in love with her and knew I didn't want to break up over such a simple 
matter. 

`Simple matter' was the way I tried to look at my fetish in those years. 
During college I was always very quick and eager to notice any female that 
might be smoking within my line of sight. "Sightings" I called them - and 
there were plenty of good ones around campus in the early `80s. Even though 
my sighting of Renee at the football party was a partial reason for walking 
up to her later in the evening, it wasn't the main reason. Sometime in high 
school or early college, I made the erroneous assumption that my attraction 
to smoking women was an indulgence left over from passing adolescence - 
that it would fade soon after I became an adult - maybe when I turned 21. 
After all, no adult would continue to have a fetish like this in married 
life, right? That was how I excused it when I admitted these feelings to 
myself. The way I justified asking Renee if she was interested in smoking 
again was that (a) I still presently had the fetish and (b) I felt close 
enough to her in our relationship that I could admit to the fetish in the 
first place. 

After batting the topic around only a couple of more times, Renee decided 
she would try a cigarette for me about a month after we became engaged. We 
both had a semester and a half to finish before earning our degrees and 
planned on having the wedding very soon after that. It was during a fall 
break from school. We were at this Irish bar / restaurant having dinner in 
one of the booths. It was after 9 o'clock and some live music had just 
started while we were discussing where we wanted to settle after 
graduation. In those days leading up to the wedding, we spent many hours 
trying to figure out where we wanted to live. The only thing we could agree 
on was that we wanted to be away from our families and the East Coast for a 
while. 

Just then a stunning blond about our age arrived with an older woman and, 
based on resemblance, was likely her mother. They were seated at a booth 
across from us and before the hostess had even left their table, the 
younger woman pulled out a long, white cigarette from her purse and lit it. 
Soon both women were smoking. Now, it would be dishonest to say that I 
ignored them even though I was sitting with my fiancée. I mean, how often 
are you treated to a mother / daughter sighting? And in this case, the 
mother was a very nice looking older woman - I would say 40 max. She had a 
wonderfully matured style with her inhales and exhales - much better than 
her blonde daughter. The mother didn't rush the smoke out of her lungs, 
rather she savored it before exhaling. Her daughter seemed new to smoking 
and still enjoyed watching the smoke leave her body. She was a bit more 
animated with her exaggerated pursed lips and rapid exhales. As I stared, I 
was reminded of what Cindy Caldwell and her mom must've looked like when 
they started smoking together. (As a kid, I never got to see a treat like 
that.) 

Renee had her back to the two women and thankfully didn't notice my staring 
- at least I didn't think she did. What surprised me (shocked me, actually) 
was that about a half hour after the female couple arrived, Renee did a 
half turn-around on her bench, looked at them, turned back to me and said, 
"Do you dare me to smoke a cigarette now?" 

I winced, thinking where did that come from? We'd both been sipping on 
beers since finishing our light dinner (something you could still do as the 
minimum age for beer / wine was 19) and Renee was probably a little buzzed. 
I remember thinking, okay, don't blow it. You're response will set the tone 
for the rest of the evening - and maybe beyond. "Sure," I said. "Yes. I 
mean, of course I, uh, dare you, uh-" My voice failed me. 

Renee put her hand up to her mouth to cover her cute little laugh. "You 
should see the look on your face. You'd think I'd just offered you a 
threesome in bed or something." 

I tried to calm myself. "Renee, if you'd like to smoke, then please, go 
ahead." I wasn't sure how she was going to do it though. There were 
certainly no cigarettes in her purse. 

She smiled mischievously then shot up from her seat and breezed towards the 
mother / daughter table. I saw her exchange pleasantries with the daughter 
(they must know each other, I thought), shake the mother's hand then bend 
over and accept a light from the daughter after inserting a nice long white 
cigarette between her lips. I distinctly remember watching Renee from the 
booth after she got the cigarette going. She removed it from her mouth and 
looked down at it in her hand to make sure it was fully lit. Then she 
smiled at the couple she'd just bummed the cigarette from and headed back 
to our booth. It all happened so fast, I know I sat there looking 
catatonic. 

Renee slid into the booth with a big grin on her face. "So, what do you 
think?" she said just before taking her first real puff. Her draw lasted 
about 3 seconds. She barely opened her mouth and squinted her eyes during 
her inhale. She held the smoke in her chest for another 3 seconds then 
turned her head to the aisle and exhaled very evenly away from the table. 
All in all, it looked great. She looked great. I was getting hotter by the 
minute. 

I knew I had to say something. I couldn't just sit there with my mouth 
hanging wide open. But I could tell - Renee was having fun with my 
stupefied reaction. "Renee, you look like you know what you're doing. 
You've done this before, right?" 

"Of course," she replied initiating another 3-second puff. After inhaling, 
she continued, "But not since I met you. I told you, I don't smoke." 

I laughed. She was being funny and didn't know it. Here Renee was saying, 
"I told you, I don't smoke," yet as she said it, smoke was coming out of 
her mouth and nose mixing with her words. When she noticed, she again 
turned to the aisle, pursed her lips and breathed out. 

"You look like you're smoking to me," I said in a casual manner trying to 
alleviate any tension. 

"Yeah, well-maybe just this once - for you." She giggled then looked at the 
cigarette in her right hand and pondered, "Salem, hmmm." 

"Not your usual brand?" I kidded. I knew the cigarette was a Salem 100 
(full flavor) from the moment she carried it over. After eight years of 
living with this full-blown fetish, I could ID a woman's brand from 10 feet 
away. 

"I don't know. I don't have a `brand'," she uttered before starting her 
third puff. 

Could've fooled me, I thought. She was surprisingly proficient at smoking - 
much better than the blond sitting across the aisle. 

Slowly, I got the conversation back to where we'd been before her lighting 
up. I wanted desperately to have everything seem normal - like here we are, 
enjoying the live music, the beer, the atmosphere, each other, and oh, 
Renee just happens to be smoking a cigarette. That way it wouldn't seem 
like she was smoking just for me. 

After her fifth puff and subsequent exhale, Renee again looked at her 
cigarette and laughed. She said, "I feel so silly. I mean-" She laughed 
again. "I mean, this seems so pointless - to suck in smoke and then blow it 
out. What for?" 

I considered this for a moment. What for? I met her gaze. "Well, some 
people like the way it makes them feel. Surely you feel something after 
inhaling five puffs." 

She didn't reply. 

"Don't you?" 

"No, not really. I taste smoke in my mouth - that's about it. I don't think 
you'll want to kiss me anytime soon," she said in earnest. 

"Are you kidding? I smiled and said, "Oh contraire," which was a big 
mistake. I was acting way too excited. "Let me kiss you now." I wanted to 
kiss Renee more than ever. I had had this fantasy ever since I was 12 - 
that is, to kiss a girl while she is smoking. I leaned forward to reach 
across the booth. 

Renee wouldn't do it. She didn't lean over to meet me. Her smile 
disappeared and she moved to de-ash her cigarette. Then, after flicking her 
ash, she went ahead and put the half-smoked cigarette out entirely. After 
rubbing it around in the ashtray, she looked up with a weary smile and 
said, "There. Happy?" 

Her words were not met as sarcasm. She was truly asking if that's what I 
wanted. Was it good? Did I do it right? I was crestfallen. I felt she was 
saying, there, I did it for you - can we just move on now? 

I know I must've looked saddened when I answered her, "I only want you to 
smoke if you want to too." It was a truthful reply. 

"I'm sure," she whispered. 

I don't remember much of the conversation for the rest of the evening in 
the restaurant. I do remember feeling the most turned on I'd ever been with 
Renee in bed that night. As we were making love, I figured she must've 
realized why I was so horny, why I wanted to inhale her breath between 
kisses, why I was so hard and came so quickly. The hell with it, I thought. 
It was a small indulgence. I couldn't keep my fantasy inside forever. 



During the first ten years of our marriage, the smoking topic only came up 
a few times. We danced around how she felt about it, how I felt about it. 
Then, in desperation, I specifically asked Renee on two separate occasions 
if she would be willing to smoke for me. Both times the conversation ended 
with her saying something like, "There's no point in it," or, "What's the 
big deal about blowing out smoke?" or even, "Why would I want to kill 
myself?" I suspect that after ten years of dodging the topic and my few 
requests that it was just another symptom of what was wrong with our 
marriage. 

At the twelve-year point, we entered counseling. It was at my request since 
a year prior Renee entered a phase where she simply didn't want me to touch 
her - like, "Nothing personal, just don't touch me." After several anemic 
sessions with this female counselor (Dr. `Gwen') who turned out to be about 
25 and unmarried, we mutually agreed to quit going. The one thing Doc Gwen 
was successful in doing was convincing Renee to see our general 
practitioner about depression. She did and he immediately referred her to a 
real psychiatrist that got her going on a whole host of drugs. One year it 
was Zoloft, the next Paxil, then Prozac. Over the span of five years, Renee 
must've tried every anti-depressant on the market. Her shrink even tried 
stimulants (Ritalin) and tranquilizers (Xanax, Soma and Valium). Some of 
the medications did improve her general state and quality of life but most 
of the time Renee was resentful that she needed it in the first place. As a 
result, she'd skip days (a big no-no) and then slowly backslide into a 
general funk. 

Renee's whole sad state began to weigh on me and the marriage but we never 
confronted divorce until we had another one of our big arguments the 
morning after going out to dinner with a couple from our neighborhood. 
Before we left for dinner, things were not going great between us but they 
weren't bad either. (Writing this now, I'd have to say `bad' was a relative 
term - it's a wonder either of us put up with things as long as we did.) A 
truce existed where I wouldn't try to get too intimate with her and she 
wouldn't resist what little attention I did give her. I know, I know - we 
probably should've ended things several years earlier but we were two 
practical engineers with a ten-year-old daughter to think about. 

The Friday evening out with our neighborhood friends Bill and Kathy started 
very well. Bill had made reservations at this trendy bistro that had just 
opened and was on everyone's `must try' list. As we expected, the place was 
packed when we arrived at 7:30 but we got a good table since Bill played 
golf with the owner. However, the first thing that seemed strange was when 
the host seated us, I noticed we were in the smoking section. Renee also 
appeared surprised by the table location since she figured Bill could've 
had any table he wanted. 

"Bill," Renee said, touching his arm, "They made a mistake. We're in 
`smoking'." She was in a good mood and it didn't sound like a complaint but 
I knew she would've preferred `non-smoking'. 

Bill leaned over, and to my pleasant surprise, I heard him say in a low 
voice, "Sorry, I hope you don't mind. Kathy's smoking again and I didn't 
want to deprive her." He smiled at both of us. 

Renee and I quickly exchanged an I-didn't-know-she-smoked glance before 
Kathy arrived at the table. She was hanging up her coat and walked in after 
Bill had finished telling us the news. I didn't think she'd heard him but 
she looked at us after we'd all sat down and said, "Yes, Bill's so sweet to 
accommodate my bad habit. I hadn't had a cigarette in over six years until 
two weeks ago at work. You know, the pressure is just awful down there and 
I couldn't cope. Well, it was the last straw when I went to Amanda's desk 
for help on this project we're working on and I discover that Amanda's out 
on her umpteenth smoke break of the day. Well, I go storming out onto the 
patio to grab her and the next thing I know she's handing me a cigarette. I 
pause, look at it for about 10 seconds and then before I know it, wham, I'm 
smoking again." 

I smiled. It was a cute story. I really admired Kathy. She was a small 
woman (about 5' 2") with a very slender, athletic build. She had light 
brown hair that bounced around her shoulders and always had a big Julia 
Roberts-type smile. She was a bundle of energy, an extrovert's extrovert, 
bubbly, funny, intelligent and she made anyone that stopped to talk to her 
glad they did. 

"I didn't know you used to smoke," I said trying to contain my excitement. 
I thought this was going to be a great evening. I couldn't believe my good 
fortune. 

"Oh, Mark! We've only known each other for three years. How could've you 
known?" she asked rhetorically before giggling and reaching down into her 
purse. Within seconds, she pulled out a single slender all-white cigarette 
from a hidden pack and placed it between her lips. She had also retrieved 
an attractive lighter. "I hope this doesn't bother anyone," she said not 
waiting for a response as the unlit cigarette bounced in her lips. She 
clicked her lighter and was soon exhaling her first puff away from the 
table. 

Virginia Slims Menthol Lights, I noticed. She didn't have to reveal the 
pack. I identified the brand as soon as the cigarette was in her hand. I 
wanted to keep the conversation on smoking, if just for a moment longer. I 
asked Kathy, "So, do you feel bad about resuming your old habit or are you 
enjoying it?" I could sense Renee turning her head in my direction. Fuck 
it, I thought. 

"I'm not sorry at all," Kathy grinned after a second exhale. Then she 
lowered her voice as if to tell a secret. "I know I lasted six years 
without a cigarette, but I used to think about it all the time - especially 
at work. I was able to resist but in the back of my mind, I knew I would be 
smoking again at some point - and knowing that, I was able to keep the 
urges at bay just a little longer. Then, my God, at work last Friday when 
the shit hit the fan-forget about it. I hit my break point and gladly 
surrendered." She started a long third puff. 

This was a great exchange, I thought. I would love to talk to women like 
this about their smoking more often. And Kathy didn't seem self-conscious 
about it at all. She loved to talk about anything and she always did it in 
a bold but fun manner. I felt she would let me ask questions all night but 
I knew if I asked one more that Renee would probably kick my leg under the 
table. "Well," I spoke for the group, "I don't think any of us mind." I 
kept my eyes locked on Kathy fearing the worst from Renee. 

The evening did proceed splendidly. We all had several rounds of drinks 
before we got around to ordering our food. Bill told some funny stories 
about clients from his law practice that kept us laughing. The restaurant 
owner came over to our table and he and Bill traded some friendly jabs 
about the recent Packers-49ers playoff game. The 49ers had lost big in 
Green Bay and Bill was a big San Francisco fan. To show his `condolences', 
the owner sent over a bottle of his best Napa Valley Merlot. The best part 
was the way Kathy flirted shamelessly with him while he was at our table. 
She was simply being herself as she laughed at his jokes, touched his arm 
and held his hands. It was all harmless fun but I couldn't help but being 
turned on in the presence of such a radiate woman. I'd look at Renee from 
time to time and notice she was trying to enjoy herself. She was paying 
attention to everyone and smiling at the appropriate moments but wasn't 
saying much. This was normal though. And, admittedly, it was hard to 
compete for attention with a woman like Kathy around. 

When the waitress finally took our food order, we were all in a joyous 
state from the two drinks each and the bottle of Merlot. After the women 
ordered, they stood up and excused themselves to the restroom. I was 
wondering how Renee was feeling. She seemed okay but was always what I'd 
call a lightweight when it came to alcohol. I noticed she and Kathy were 
laughing as they strolled away from our table. Good for them, I remember 
thinking. I was feeling pretty good myself. 

After a five-minute absence, I noticed Kathy threading her way back between 
the tables in the crowded dinning area. Renee was following and was 
partially obscured. Kathy smiled as she made eye contact with Bill. I 
noticed she had a freshly lit VS at her side that was adding to the already 
smoky environment. What I noticed next made me about fall out of my chair. 
When Renee came in full view from behind Kathy she also had a freshly lit 
VS in her right hand. 

Kathy walked right up to me and placed her hand on my forearm and said, "I 
hope you don't mind. I corrupted your wife. I let her have one of my 
cigarettes." Then she giggled mischievously. 

Her hand was warm and soft. I smiled and leaned close to her. "Are you 
kidding?" I whispered. "I don't mind at all." I was tempted to kiss her on 
the cheek. She was that close (and I was that happy). 

Kathy seemed relieved and laughed at my remark. She sat down and began a 
long puff on her cigarette. Renee looked at me wanting reinforcement of my 
expected approval. I didn't disappoint her. I smiled and rested my hand on 
her thigh when she sat down. 

Renee looked beautiful to me. She always did - especially when we went for 
an evening out. She would first get her hair and makeup arranged just right 
and then fuss about what to wear. In my opinion, it didn't matter - 
anything looked great on her trim body. Tonight, for this casual bistro 
environment, she had on some tight-fitting denim blue jeans, a black 
turtleneck sweater and a pair of gold hoop earrings. The black turtleneck 
looked so nice in contrast to her ash-blond hair and long white cigarette 
held in her right hand. I couldn't believe how great she looked. She was 
easily the best-looking female in the room and I remember feeling very 
happy for her. She seemed to take some confidence in my stroking her leg. 

I was getting a bit impatient though. The women had been back for about two 
minutes and Kathy had already taken three puffs from her cigarette but 
Renee hadn't had one. As our conversation lapsed for a few seconds, Renee 
finally did raise her Virginia Slims to her lips. I watched out of the 
corner of my eye and noticed Kathy paying loose attention too. Renee did 
great. It was just like watching her when she smoked in that restaurant 
before we got married. She took a three-second draw, slid the cigarette out 
and held her lips apart and inhaled. Just as the first time I observed her, 
she held the smoke in her chest for about 3 seconds then exhaled smoothly 
away from the table. To me, it was like a flashback from 14 years ago. She 
was doing it exactly the same. 

Bill broached the smoking topic this time. "So Renee, I hope Kathy's 
smoking hasn't made you resume your old habit too." 

I did a double take. I didn't know what Bill was talking about. 

Renee was in the middle of another puff. She made a "uh-uh" sound while her 
lips were compressed around the filter and shook her head. (I love it when 
women actually try to communicate while in mid-puff.) She inhaled and 
spoke, "I never had the habit. I don't smoke." 

Everyone at the table laughed, Kathy the loudest, because just like 14 
years ago, as Renee proclaimed she didn't smoke, smoke was coming from her 
mouth mixing with her very words. When she realized she just did something 
funny, she laughed with us and pushed the remainder of her smoke out in 
measured bursts. 

"No, no, I'm sorry," Bill said. He was smiling trying to sound easy going 
but he was truly interested in Renee's seeming contradiction. Bill probably 
had the fetish too for all I knew. "You've smoked at some point then quit. 
Am I right?" 

Renee's eyes were widening. I knew that look - it was how she reacted to 
stress. I was starting to get a little uncomfortable with Bill's line of 
questioning but Renee handled him well. She said, "Sure I've smoked before. 
Haven't we all?" Then she gave me a knowing glance that I didn't quite 
understand. 

Kathy gave Bill a sharp look, which told me Bill would drop further pursuit 
of the topic. I again squeezed Renee's leg under the table and smiled at 
her to offer reassurance that everything was all right. 

Our food arrived while the women were still smoking. I watched Kathy take a 
long last puff as her plate was slid in front of her. I figured Renee would 
just stub the remainder of her VS out immediately. When she saw her plate 
was being prepared to be set in front of her, she turned her head away and 
took two consecutive puffs, inhaled and held the smoke as she put out her 
cigarette. Then she exhaled away from the table as she set her napkin in 
her lap. I couldn't help but stare at her. When I looked over at Bill, he 
was staring too but quickly looked down at his food when our eyes made 
contact. I know I had the same thought he had earlier - that this woman had 
smoked regularly at some point in her life. Her mannerisms were just too 
polished. 

After dinner, the women enjoyed several more cigarettes during their 
coffee. Renee seemed more at ease smoking in front of us and contributed 
more to the conversation than before our meal. Kathy still did most of the 
talking though. Half the time, she was exhaling smoke while speaking, 
either not noticing or not caring. The thing I remember most about this 
moment was being across from and next to these two smoking women and 
smelling their sweet exhales. The secondhand smoke that came from their 
mouths was redolent of a moist, cool menthol taste and was mildly sweet. 
You could tell that they were both enjoying the combination of the coffee 
and their Virginia Slims Menthol Lights as they sipped and exhaled. I 
couldn't wait to ask Renee about it when we got home. At this point, I knew 
I could get away with a few questions (or so I thought). 



I would love to report that when Renee and I got home, we made mad, 
passionate love and rekindled a marriage that had been ice-cold for the 
past 10 years - a marriage that had been sadly lacking in intimacy and sex. 
We did make love that night and Renee was a fairly willing partner. It felt 
wonderful - especially since it'd been almost six months from the last 
time. During the foreplay I whispered to her about her smoking experience. 
I told her she seemed to enjoy it and appeared very natural. I asked her if 
it tasted and felt as she remembered. She was evasive and only offered 
quick a `uh-huh' or an `I guess'. I didn't pursue her curt responses and 
just focused on the pleasure I was receiving from making love to my wife 
that still had the sweet smell of smoke in her hair and on her breath - a 
rare and exciting experience. 

The next morning when I woke up, light was creeping in from behind the 
heavy curtains Renee had closed before we started our romp. I glanced at 
the digital alarm on the bed and couldn't believe it was already 9:30. We 
never slept this late, even on a Saturday. I turned my attention back to 
Renee and noticed her stirring so I touched her bare shoulder and smiled, 
anticipating a pleasant awakening. She opened her eyes but when she saw me, 
she grunted, pushed some hair out of her face and rolled on her other side. 
My stomach twisted ever so slightly. I feared she had entered another state 
of mild depression since she couldn't possibly be angry with me. I sighed 
and again touched her shoulder. 

Renee was facing away. She let out her own exasperated sigh. "What is it, 
Mark?" There was a mild annoyance in her voice. 

"Good morning," I offered. 

"Mm umm," was her monotone response. 

In better times, if I touched Renee's shoulder after an evening of making 
love, she would normal respond by curling up closer to me. We'd either then 
fall back asleep in each other's arms or end up chatting and laughing 
before getting out of bed. There was no hope of that now and I didn't 
understand why. 

"Are you upset about something?" I asked. History told me not to pose this 
question but I was truly puzzled. And I desperately wanted to be close to 
her again after an evening of smoking and our lovemaking. 

Renee seemed to ponder the question. "I don't know." 

After the length of silence, I was surprised this was all she could offer 
me. 

"Seriously. What is it?" I tried to sound as soothing and positive as 
possible. 

She turned back to face me. I expected her to reach out. I hoped that even 
if she was feeling low that she had enough strength to get closer and let 
me help - at least let me hold her and give her a hug. She rolled her eyes. 
"Oh, I don't know. I really don't want to talk about it." 

This statement was laced with peril. Her plain language was, I don't what 
to talk about it. The translation was, you are in trouble and I'm really 
pissed. 

I plunged ahead. "Are you feeling okay?" 

This was another minefield. The question could be harmless enough but when 
Renee was feeling down or depressed, it could also be the fast-pass to a 
night on the couch. My question alone had the power to transition her 
depression to anger - something like her saying, I was feeling okay until 
you started your damn nagging. 

But this time Renee looked at me for a several seconds and said, "No". "No, 
I'm not feeling okay." 

"Do you want to talk about it?" I felt a knot form in my stomach. 

"Talk about what?" she asked, in a frustrated voice. 

"What do you mean? Talk about why you're not feeling okay." Now I was 
getting frustrated. 

"Do you really want to go there?" 

"Yes." I felt I was ready to deal with a discussion about how her medicine 
wasn't working or how she wanted to try a new counselor. What she said next 
shocked the hell out of me. 

"I want a divorce." She immediately looked away but continued, "I do. I 
hate our relationship. You've never understood and you've just gone on with 
your own little life like everything was just super." 

The little knot in my stomach turned into a major blow. I was stung and 
breathless. I knew we had trouble but never suspected Renee wanted out of 
the marriage - especially since we had a 10-year-old daughter we both 
adored and didn't want to suffer a broken home. 

"What do you mean you want a divorce? I don't understand." 

"Exactly," she deadpanned. 

"You know what I mean. Come on, Renee. You're not serious, are you?" I 
reached out to touch her. "Can't you remember the good times? The way it 
was before, uh- We could have that again. We just need to work on things a 
bit-" I wanted to add, -like we did last night, but something told me to 
stop. 

She pulled away. "No." She looked at my hand like it was covered in manure. 
"That's always been one of your problems. Just like Kim Richey sings about 
- You seem to remember the way it never was. We never argued and didn't 
fight. It was always hearts and flowers and true romance. Yeah, right." She 
looked up at the ceiling. "I'm just tired of the whole thing." 

"What IS wrong?" I implored. "We just had a wonderful evening out and then 
we made love. I'll say it again: I don't understand." 

She gave me an evil look. She was clearly very disturbed. "All right. I'll 
spell it out for you. We go out, we smile, we laugh, you treat me lovingly 
in front of our friends to show them everything's just fine and then-" 

I interrupted her. "Yes, how dare I take you out and have a good time. 
Guilty as charged," I said sarcastically. "I don't think I was showing our 
friends how fine everything was in our bedroom last night." 

Her eyes narrowed and she let out a hiss. "Oh, sure, that brings us to our 
little roll in the hay. We make love for the first time in about a year and 
you think everything's great. The only time you ever want to get close is 
when I wear a black sweater and smoke a cigarette. The rest of the time, 
you're doing-doing-doing whatever it is you do to satisfy yourself. I'm 
just sick-and I want out." 

I was reeling. Within the space of about 5 minutes, I had gone from loving 
closeness to sympathy, then anger and now mind-numbing shock. I couldn't 
speak so Renee continued. 

"Don't look so dumb. You know what I'm talking about." 

Warning bells were going off in my head and I felt she must know SOMETHING 
but what could be so incriminating as to ask for a divorce? I had never 
messed around with any women on the side - nothing, never. Frustrated, I 
lifted my shoulders and said, "No, I don't know WHAT you're talking about. 
I've never been unfaithful to you. I figured the only reason we don't make 
love much anymore is that, well, you're depressed a good deal of the time 
and we've grown apart." 

"Don't you blame my depression on the failure of this marriage," she 
cautioned. "You want to know the cause? Well, maybe not the only cause but 
certainly a big factor as far as I'm concerned." 

I was eager to hear this. I couldn't believe she was trying to disconnect 
her depression as a factor in our marital debacle. Almost too confidently I 
spoke, "Yeah, let's hear it." 

Renee's eyes focused and met mine. "Okay, I found your stash. I found all 
those tapes you have hidden behind the files in your desk - all fuckin' 
sixteen of them." She gave me a smirk that said, okay big shot now what are 
you going to do? 

I felt a mixture of relief and fright. I never bothered to count how many 
and it surprised me when she announced I'd acquired sixteen tapes already. 
My immediate reaction was a sigh and rolling of my eyes. 

"Oh, sure, go ahead. Try to shrug it off," she interjected. "I always 
suspected you were slightly bent but not sixteen tapes worth." 

I tried to keep calm in my voice. "Renee, do you know what's on those 
tapes? Have you even watched any?" 

"I don't HAVE to. I doesn't take much of an imagination to guess what's on 
`Smoking and Lace' or `Samantha Smokes the 120s'." Her voice dripped with 
syrup as she pronounced the titles. 

"You need to take a look at one. There's absolutely no pornography in them. 
All the women do is smoke. It's no big deal." 

Renee's allegation was true. I had collected about sixteen VHS tapes of 
women smoking over the last couple of years. I had purchased them over the 
Internet. They were delivered to my work address and I paid with my own 
personal AMEX. The tapes were all pretty much the same - the only variance 
being different models in different settings. They were all clothed in 
either casual jeans / sweaters or dressy office / evening attire. They were 
all nice looking and stood or sat as they simply smoked their long, all 
white cigarettes. That was it. 

Renee remained quiet so I continued, "I'll say it again. It's not porn. 
It's just models - all over 18 - smoking cigarettes on camera." 

"You know-I could understand porn. I could understand if it were X-rated 
movies of men and women having sex. I understand that. For God's sake, I 
know men like to get off on that sometimes. But women that smoke-you get 
off on that? 

"Sometimes," I said softly, looking down. At least I was being honest. "I 
told you I thought it was attractive before we got married." 

"I just don't understand that. I really don't. And what I don't understand 
scares me." Then she paused and seemed to reflect before speaking again. 
"In one way I guess it's worked out for me though." 

"Worked out how?" I couldn't imagine. 

"Well, if this is a time for confessions, here goes: I was a closet smoker 
until Ashley was born." 

Ashley was our 10-year-old daughter and only child. She was born four years 
after we were married. 

I was flabbergasted. "You-you smoked? That long? What-how-I-?" My voice 
trailed off. I wanted to ask a million questions. 

"Yeah. I was hooked when you met me. I probably would've continued smoking 
in front of you if I didn't know about your sick fetish. It scared me. It 
still does. But I couldn't just quit so I smoked when you weren't around 
the house or when I was at work. I just couldn't bring myself to smoke in 
front of you. I didn't want you staring at me while I was inhaling the 
smoke deep into my lungs. I wasn't smoking to be sexy. I was addicted and 
needed to smoke." 

Despite the seriousness of our discussion and divorce looming in the air, I 
was getting turned on. I moved closer to her on the bed. 

She pulled away. "Don't," she cautioned. "I shouldn't have even told you 
this. I suppose it excites you or something." 

I felt she needed a better explanation. "Renee, since you seem to think 
you've got me all figured out, just let me say something." 

"Let me finish first, then you can talk all you want. I wanted to continue 
to smoke after I met you. I really did. And then you told me what you did. 
Like I said though, it's worked out after all. Because of you and having 
Ashley, I was able to quit. So now I don't smoke, I have my health and 
that's really best all around." She finally looked up at me and said, 
"Okay, that's it. If you have something to say, fine, but I'm through-we're 
through, our marriage is through." 

I tried to follow her logic despite the pain it was causing. I couldn't 
quite get my mind off of, "I wasn't smoking to be sexy. I was addicted and 
needed to smoke." Then she got to the last part of her sentence - the, 
"-our marriage is through," part. It was still hanging in the air like a 
chill when she looked down at my exposed underwear and noticed I was almost 
fully erect. I looked down, quickly pulled part of sheet over my lap and 
gave her an embarrassed grin. 

Renee shook her head. "I can't help you, Mark. You're sick." After 
proclaiming this, she got up and strode from the bedroom in her robe. 



Renee filed for divorce three days later and left me before the week was up 
- all because she was `scared' of my `sick fetish'. I know now, after two 
years of therapy, that this was never the real reason. Renee had been 
faithful to the marriage - that was not the real reason either. I couldn't 
accuse her of having any extra-marital flings. And at times during the 
divorce proceedings, I prayed that she had had a fling or two. It would've 
made more sense for her wanting to leave me. The fact that she pinned it on 
my female smoking fetish still unsettles me today but I've gotten over the 
major sting. After many sessions with my shrink, he confirmed what I 
initially suspected. She suffered from what many adults do in the world 
today - a mild state of manic depression brought on by stress and anxiety. 
In most cases, this is not a marriage-buster. Medication is effective 90% 
of the time and her medication would have worked just fine had she been 
serious about taking it. As soon as she would start feeling well, her 
strong-willed temperament would tell her she didn't need the drugs and 
she'd quit. Then there was a gradual backsliding that was initially so 
subtle that neither of us would recognize it. Then the fighting would 
begin. 

I should have recognized some of the warning signs. I remember not long 
before our night out with Bill and Kathy, we were at a theater seeing some 
movie I can't recall the title of. What I can recall is before it started, 
the then-new movie "The Story of Us" preview came on the screen. I like 
Bruce Willis and I think Michelle Pfeiffer is just adorable so I paid close 
attention. You may remember the tale - it's about a couple that after 15 
years realize that maybe they made a mistake getting married. Katie Jordan 
(Pfeiffer) is the quiet and introspective wife who gets hung up on life's 
details while Ben Jordan (Willis) plays her loose, devil-may-care husband. 
Katie seems more detached in the marriage and is the one that initially 
wants out. The arguments that follow as they try to work things out are so 
real and so poignant that it made me sit riveted to my seat even during the 
preview. I looked over at Renee and saw tears streaming down her face. When 
the preview ended I commented that I wanted to see that movie. Renee just 
looked at me and said, "Why would you want to pay money to see something 
like that when we've already got it at home?" 

I didn't reply and later went ahead to see the movie when it came out 
(alone). I thought both Pfeiffer and Willis deserved an Oscar or at least a 
nomination for their accurate portrayal of a couple that all of us can 
relate to (hence the title, "The Story of Us"). It was a great movie but a 
sad commentary about our own marriage. The fact that Renee couldn't even 
bring herself to see it spoke volumes. 

All of this is not to say that our bad marriage and subsequent divorce was 
all her fault. That would not be fair. I could fight and insult with the 
best of them, provoked or not. No, we both were culpable. The only 
misdiagnosis was her blaming it on my smoking fetish. I don't know if she 
herself still clings to this reason. We've never discussed it since now we 
only see each other long enough to exchange Ashley on my custody weekends. 
The tough part for me is, she's started smoking again, but never when I'm 
near. I've just heard about it from Ashley. When I discussed it with her, 
she said she didn't understand why Mommy would start smoking. I simply said 
something like, oh, she used to before we got married, and let it go at 
that. I suppose I could make a big deal about it to the court if I wanted 
to press her for more custody time or full-time custody but I have no 
intention. If I did, it would be solely for revenge. No, I don't care. But 
at times, when I'm laying awake in bed, I try-I try with all my might, to 
gather some understanding of Renee and her fear of smoking around me. I 
mean, the fear started before we even got married. I think, if only I'd 
kept my mouth shut that evening six months after we'd met. If only- 

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