Mrs. Henderson

(by gnamuil@yahoo.com, 05 May 2003)


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Mrs. Henderson
The Story of Lucy Sung
by gnamuil@yahoo.com

Looking back now, I realize how innocuously my path to smoking started.  My
family migrated from Korea when I was three and I have no memory of living in
the land of my birth.  My sister Anna, who is eight years older than me, told
me many stories about Korea as a child and even today speaks the language
well.  I was by no means a stranger to smoking having a father who smoked
occasionally with friends and a grandmother who spent several months of the
year with our family and smoked frequently.  Although Koreans generally frown
on women who smoke publicly thinking it unladylike, this proscription does not
generally apply to women over 60 like my grandmother.  However, by the time I
was seven years old, my grandmother had become to old to travel frequently
from Korea and I saw less and less of her.  Despite this early exposure to
smokers, I felt I had had a strange curiosity about the habit for as long as I
could remember.

Our family of four lived in Georgia near a large Army fort where my mother's
sister's husband, an Army colonel, was stationed.  My mother and father both
worked long hours in a Korean market that they bought when the previous owner
returned to Korea.  Our neighborhood was a small suburban development of just
two streets with a lot of transient military families but strangely few
children.  Our ranch-style house was the last one on the street save one: a
large Victorian-style farmhouse that surely predated our neighborhood by many
years.  This house still retained acres of land that hearkened to the days
when it was still miles from the city and was surrounded by a grassy yard and
several large pecan trees but it was proximate to our back yard.  In fact, the
two houses were quite close and there was no clear demarcation between the to
properties.

The sole inhabitant of this incongruous dwelling was a mysterious middle-aged
named Mrs. Henderson.  She was a slight woman with pale skin and black hair
tied behind her head.  She usually wore long, flowery dresses or occasionally
sundresses when it was really hot out.  Mrs. Henderson did venture into her
yard except to tend to her small flower beds and to occasionally and I noticed
that she was often elegantly smoking a long, thin cigarette while she would
weed or cut flowers.  Due to my natural curiosity, I would watch her fixedly
as she contentedly puffed away while cultivating her flowers.  I also noticed
that she frequently engaged in serious coughing spasms and wondered if she
knew that her smoking was probably aggravating them.  She was almost always
home during the day but she would sometimes leave for several hours at a time
in her old 1940s looking car that she kept under her carport.

When Anna and I would play outside, Mrs. Henderson would greet us with a smile
and a wave but made no effort speak with us.  My parents being new to the
country and with limited English skills did not socialize or even speak much
with people outside the local Korean community and interacted little with our
neighbors anyway.  Anna felt she was eccentric but, at the time, I merely saw
her as an introverted, private person.  

By the time I was eight, I had learned from some kids at my school that Mrs.
Henderson was a widow and had lived alone in her house as long as any of them
could recall.  The consensus on her was much the same as what Anna thought and
there were even stories that the house was haunted by the ghost of her
deceased husband.

That summer I spent much of my time playing alone since my sister was now old
enough to drive and my parents had bought her a new car.  I was very mature
for my age and, although I had few friends, I was able to entertain myself
easily.  I was trusted to stay home unaccompanied in the summer and even
though my parents store was only a few miles from our house, they rarely came
home to check on me.  I liked to climb the trees in our yard, play house with
my dolls in the shade, or splash in our small inflatable pool.

One day I was taking my dolls on a trip to an imaginary vacation spot which
involved carrying all the dolls and their belongings a good distance from
their "house," I unknowingly wandered into the next yard.  Suddenly, Mrs.
Henderson popped up from a flower bed, spade in hand and a cigarette dangling
precipitously from her mouth.  I was startled and jumped back dropping my
dolls on the ground.  

"I'm sorry dear.  I didn't mean to scare you," Mrs. Henderson said with a deep
and gravelly but sweet voice.

"What's your name, dear?" she said as she held the thin cigarette and expelled
a thin stream of smoke from her lined mouth.

"Lucy, Lucy Sung," I said.

"Nice to meet you Lucy.  My name is Mrs. Henderson.  Would you like some
homemade cookies?  I've got some about to come out of the oven now."

Despite never having spoken to her before, I replied, "Yes ma'am, thank you."

"Well, give me a minute and I get them and bring them out for you.  Collect
your dolls and we can all have cookies in the shade."

That made me feel more comfortable than having to go inside the old house
alone with a stranger.  She returned a few minutes later and, stifling a
cough, offered me a cookie from a beautiful silver tray.

"Here you go dear.  I have pecan and chocolate chip. Do you like them?"

"Yes, ma'am. Very much," I replied truthfully having only experienced school
lunchroom cookies or store-bought birthday party cookies before.

"Well, you're a dear," she said as she lit yet another long cigarette with a
gold lighter.  "I bake these to give to the men in the Legion Hall but
sometimes I would rather have children like yourself enjoy them."

"Did you ever have children of your own?" I asked with the usually overlooked
impudence of an eight-year old thinking maybe her children had grown up and
moved away.

"No, honey.  I've lived here alone since my husband died ten years ago.  We
never had children."

"Oh," I said.

"But I like watching you and your big sister play in the yard.  You can even
use that old tree swing over there if you'd like."

"Thank you, ma'am," I exclaimed with veritable excitement.  I had often asked
Anna if I could go over into Mrs. Henderson's yard to swing since we didn't
have one but Anna thought it would be better if we stayed closer to our own
house.

In the weeks that followed I spoke to Mrs. Henderson more and more since I
played outside nearly every day.  She would come out into her yard for a while
each morning and even sometimes in the afternoon.  Sometimes, we would sit in
wrought iron chairs under the trees and she would listen to my stories and
complaints about people at school and Anna and my parents as she smoked her
long, thin cigarettes.   I even went into the parlor of the old house a couple
of times when she had made sandwiches or baked cookies for me and noticed the
heavy smell smoke in the stale air.  Anna met her and admitted to me that Mrs.
Henderson wasn't nearly as odd as she had once assumed.  In many ways she had
become a friend and my parents seemed happy that I was talking to her on the
supposition that it was good to have an adult keeping an eye on me during the
day.  My mother even got up the nerve to thank her as she was returning from
the store one evening and Mrs. Henderson and I were sitting under a tree
talking.  Later that evening, my mom commented to my dad (in Korean) that Lucy
had a new friend but fretted that she seemed to smoke entirely too openly.  My
dad replied that that's the way American women are, but admonished Anna and me
never to consider such an unladylike habit.

I wondered about my father's words.  My fascination with watching people smoke
had prompted me to take careful note whenever I saw smokers in the mall,
downtown, or wherever we went.  I always felt that women looked good when they
smoked, like they felt very comfortable or something.  In particular, Mrs.
Henderson seemed relaxed and at ease when ever she was inhaling from one of
her slender cigarettes.  To me, they seemed the perfect accompaniment to the
flowing print dresses she usually wore.

Toward the end of the summer there was one day that I didn't see Mrs.
Henderson at all and the following day either even though her car was in her
carport.  On the third day, I was worried as to why she still hadn't appeared.
That morning I resolved to go to her house and see if she was OK.  I walked up
to her front porch, went in, and knocked on the front door but there was no
answer.  I tried the knob and it turned.  I opened the door and peered into
the parlor but it was very dark and smoky and I couldn't hear a thing.  Since
most people in my hometown used their back door as the primary entry and exit
to their houses, I decided to walk around the side of Mrs. Henderson's house
under the carport to where I supposed her back door was.  

I found the back door and, forgetting to knock, tried the knob.  The door
opened and I stepped up into a washroom and saw a kitchen to my right.  I
headed toward the kitchen not realizing how quietly I was treading.  I entered
the room and literally jumped in the air from what I saw.

Mrs. Henderson was sprawled in a chair at the kitchen table with two short,
thick cigarettes protruding from her clenched lips. Her eyes were half-closed
and she was moaning as she violently puffed on the cigarettes and rubbed
herself under her thin dress, one hand caressing a breast and another stroking
at her crotch.  A huge glass ashtray sat on the table full of smoldering and
extinguished cigarette butts.

She suddenly looked up and I felt so horrified and wanted to run but I just
stood frozen.  For a moment Mrs. Henderson also had a terrible look of fright
in her eyes but it quickly changed to her usual smile with almost a hint of
relief.

"Lucy," she said.  "Come sit here at the table with me and let's talk."

"Mrs. Henderson, I don't understand?  Are you OK?  I was worried about you."

Never having seen a sight such as this in my life, I was understandably
concerned that something was badly wrong with my newfound adult friend.  I
uneasily sat in a chair a good distance from where she was now sitting upright
and sipping some coffee.

"Honey, let me explain what you saw."

"That's OK, Mrs. Henderson.  I'll go on now if you want."

Dear, it's alright.  First of all, you can call me by my first name, Adina."

I thought it was a beautiful name but I just said, "OK."

"Lucy, let me just tell you that smoking is a nasty habit.  It makes your body
dependent on a chemical called nicotine.  I am hooked on cigarettes and have
to smoke very many each day just to get enough nicotine in my body.  But I
have to be honest and say that smoking also makes me feel very good.
Sometimes when I smoke a lot, I touch my own body and feel even better.  When
you get older, you'll understand better why," she explained.

"Since my husband died, I've lived here all alone and I don't go to work or
have many friends.  I enjoy my time by myself and smoking is like a friend to
me; it keeps me company.  So, you see, this is how I keep from being too
lonely."

By now, most of my shock had faded and my curiosity was now piqued.  

"Mrs. Henderson," I asked. "How come you're smoking those short, stubby
cigarettes instead of the long ones you usually smoke?"

"Lucy, there are many different kinds of cigarettes and these are more
powerful and more satisfying than those long ones.  These are called Pall
Malls and don't have any filter on the end."

"See," she said as she showed me the end of one just before she centered it in
her lips and lit it with a plume of smoke. "But many people think it's crude
for a woman to smoke unfiltered cigarettes so, when I'm outdoors, I smoke
those others.  They're called Virginia Slims and they're made especially for
women."

"My dad says that smoking is unladylike," I challenged.

"Many, many years ago, people believed that.  But, now, lot's of people think
it is attractive and even elegant when a woman smokes a cigarette."

"Mrs. Henderson, if that's true, would I be more elegant if I were to smoke?"

"Oh no, honey!  Smoking is not for children.  It's something you have to wait
until you're a little older to try."

"Uh-huh," I said though not convinced of this logic.

And so I discovered Mrs. Henderson's secret and I soon resolved that I, too,
want to smoke like her.  Through the rest of the summer we became closer and I
was frequently invited into her house.  I got to see her beautiful living
room, her library and study, and her room full of dried flowers.  We would
even sit in her bedroom with the beautiful four-poster bed and huge dressing
mirror.  She showed me her closets full of gorgeous evening gowns and dresses
that I wondered if she ever wore.  All the while, I got to watch her smoke
like a chimney.  In the confines of her house, she was never without a lit
cigarette in her mouth.  She kept packs of Pall Malls and lighters in every
room and ashtrays on every table.  However, she would usually simply chain
smoke from the ubiquitous pack or two of cigarettes that always occupied a
pocket of her dress.  I had no idea how many she smoked a day but I had never
seen anyone smoke like her.

All the while watching her, I was plotting how to smoke.  In the end it was
extraordinarily simple.  Adina, as I now called her, left a carton of Virginia
Slims Menthol 100s on a table in the parlor to smoke outside when she was
gardening.  One day as I was leaving through the front door, I simply reached
down to an already opened pack and plucked two cigarettes out and hid them in
my shorts pocket.  The very next day, the perfect opportunity presented
itself.  My parents were at the store as usual and Anna had gone to the lake
with her high school friends, when I noticed Adina backing her car from under
the carport.  I ran over to her window and she told me she was going to the
Legion Hall for her weekly volunteer work.  I waved goodbye and sped back into
the house, recovered my stash and a pack of my dad's matches and ran around
behind our house and under our back porch.  

With nervous excitement, I placed a VS Menthol 100 between my small lips and
removed a match.  The long cigarette wobbled precariously as I fumbled to
light a match.  After getting a light, I steadied the cigarette with one hand
and applied the flame to the end.  My fascination with smoking and my time
with Adina meant that I was aware of how to smoke and even the mechanics of
inhaling.  That knowledge did nothing to lessen the shock as I quickly sucked
in a gulp of smoke just as the match lit the cigarette.  A violent cough
expelled the cigarette onto the ground and I wondered how Adina or anyone
could love smoking so much.

Nonetheless, I steeled my resolve and determined that my inexperience must be
to blame.  I was determined to do this right but I decided maybe I should take
it slower.  I picked up the still-lit VS, brushed off the filter, placed it
pack in my mouth, and took a small, inquisitive puff.  I didn't inhale and was
surprised at how mild the smoke now tasted.  I took several more such puffs
before I braced myself and attempted to inhale once again.  This time, I felt
only excitement and no desire to cough although my small chest felt very
tight.  I finished the first cigarette with two more inhales and proceeded to
light the second one.  I smoked the second VS much faster, inhaling every puff
and noticed that, in addition to feeling energized and light-headed, I also
felt a little moist in my private area.  I managed not to cough at all but I
felt dizzy and a little queasy so I stubbed out the butt on the ground, picked
up the remains and stumbled out into the yard to sit in the grass.

My first experience with smoking was wonderful and, over the next few days I
pilfered several more VSs from Adina's parlor supply.  I could generally find
the opportunity to smoke at least two cigarettes a day under my back porch and
delighted in my newfound activity.  One day a few weeks after school started,
Adina and I were sitting under a tree after school talking about all the boys
I hated in my new class.  My parents were at the store and Anna was out with
her friends.  Having always been very inquisitive and unafraid to ask blunt
questions, I began probing Adina about her smoking.

"Why do you like to smoke?"

"It's hard to explain, dear," Adina said as she lit a VS Menthol 100 and
collapsed her cheeks around a deep, satisfying drag.

"Well, what made you start?"

Not having kids of her own, she was unsure how to proceed on such topics but
my serious demeanor and my general maturity led her to quickly shake off any
reticence she might have had about speaking candidly.

"Well, that's a long story for some other time.  Needless to say, I started
many years ago.  Far too young, I might add."

"But why do you like it so much," I prodded.

"Honey, that's hard to explain to someone who doesn't smoke.  When I started,
it was just something fun to do but gradually takes a hold of you until you
feel you have to smoke just to get through the day.  That's not to say I don't
like it.  Like I told you, even though I need to smoke, I also enjoy it as
well.  What's wrong, honey," she asked, noticing I was looking down with an
embarrassed look on my face. "What's wrong?"

"Adina, I've been smoking now for over a month."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry.  I just wanted to see what it was like so I smoked some of your
long ones from the parlor."

"Honey, what have you done?!  What have I done?  How many have you smoked?"

"I've been smoking three or four each day."

"Every day?!"

"I think maybe it's a habit with me now, too.  Sometimes I feel like I really
need to smoke or I get nervous and irritated," I admitted.

"Oh my goodness.  You'd better stop right now.  Your mother and father will
kill me if they think if led you to this."

"They don't know a thing.  They're never around anyway and neither is Anna," I
said in a slightly defiant tone.

"Well, that's no excuse.  A little girl like you shouldn't be smoking."

"I'm NOT that little, I declared.  I'm nine."

"Oh, mercy!" Adina moaned. "You ARE trouble."

My confidence suddenly dissolved and I started crying.  "I don't care what you
think.  I just like to smoke and I want to keep smoking wahh?"

Adina put her arm around me and comforted me as she dragged on the filter of
her cigarette.

"There, there, sugar.  Don't cry about it."

I looked up through my teary eyes at her face as her cheeks collapsed with yet
another hit of menthol.  I closed my eyes and extended my lips as if to kiss
the air.  I'm not sure what came over her but, in a moment of sympathy, Adina
applied the filter of her cigarette to my lips and I drew in heavily.  I
quickly inhaled the thick smoke, held it in my lungs to remove the nicotine
and tars, and expelled a thin stream of what remained.  Adina's eyes widened
at my adept performance.

"Evidently you HAVE been smoking quite a bit, young lady."

From that moment, our relationship changed.  We were partners in a secret
that, if revealed, would be unpleasant for both of us.  With my already
powerful skills of persuasion, I convinced Adina that I couldn't quit even if
I wanted and, within in a few days, she was supplying me with several VS
Menthols each day.  After she endorsed and began nourishing my budding
addiction, we became like soul mates, despite our age difference.  She was
much more open with me about all subjects and I felt free to ask her anything.

"Adina, I've seen other people smoke but how come it seems like you smoke more
than everybody else?"

"I already smoked a lot before I was married.  It was different then.  My
husband didn't mind me smoking and I didn't work after we married so I
gradually smoked more and more.  When he died, smoking was my only friend and
I just smoked more and more."

"How much do you smoke now?" I asked.

"About five packs a day."

"Wow, I guess that's a lot."

Our relationship continued much the same for the next four years.  Adina
became much like a best friend and a mother to me.  Over those four years by
addiction to tobacco also matured.  At first, I would only smoke over at
Adina's after school or on the weekends and my intake usually amounted to only
five or six cigarettes a day.  I tried Adina's Pall Malls once or twice but
preferred the cool, mentholated Virginia Slims that had first hooked me.  I
didn't know anyone in elementary school who smoked and, even if I did, I was
quite the introvert around my peers.  By smoking only at Adina's, I was able
to brush my teeth and take other measures to lessen the fragrance that clung
to me.  This situation sufficed for a couple of years but I gradually found
myself more and more anxious to broaden my smoking regimen.  I began to stop
by Adina's before school for a quick nicotine boost and found it harder and
harder to concentrate in class.

When I went to junior high school, many things changed.  At the much larger
school, there was a large contingent of smokers who would congregate in a
wooded area near the PE grounds in our after-lunch recess.  I would also
notice the smell of smoke wafting from the girls' bathroom between classes and
some of them would even be smoking in the morning as the arrived for school in
the cars of their older siblings or boyfriends from the high school next door.
Soon after I arrived at the beginning of my sixth grade year there, I started
taking a pack of cigarettes to school with me and I ingratiated myself with a
group of girls who regularly partook of tobacco there.  For the first time, I
began to make closer friends although there was always a certain distance.  In
junior high, Koreans were generally considered nerdy and none smoked openly at
school. Not only was I oriental, but I clearly had a rather strong addiction
to my full-flavored VSs.  Most of the other girls smoked Marlboro Lights or
Camel Lights and had a much more casual relationship with the demon weed.
Thus, I was considered a little unusual and aloof.

My addiction exploded to a new level as I began to smoke five or six
cigarettes between classes and after lunch.  Supplemented by an increasing
before- and after-school consumption, I was now smoking nearly a pack a day.
The fact that I could replenish my supply from Adina's seemingly endless stash
at any time didn't hurt either.  I began to smell like an ashtray but my
family assumed it was because I spent so much time at Adina's.  My case was
helped when Anna, a few months before she was to leave for college in
Virginia, admitted her own smoking dependency.  My father was livid and
forbade her to continue smoking but my mother was more resigned.  In the end,
without any way to enforce such a prohibition, they let up and tacitly
permitted her to smoke on our porch or in her upstairs room.  Being eight
years Anna's junior, I wasn't about to follow up with a confession of my own
but the smoke billowing from Anna's room gave me cover to smoke in the
upstairs bathroom with the fan running.

I had been exploring my blossoming figure with my fingers for some time and
the sanctuary of the bathroom allowed me the luxury of pleasuring myself while
smoking.  I was soon greeting every morning by lighting two Virginia Slims
simultaneously (a trick I learned from Adina) and then working myself into a
frenzy while bathing my nicotine-starved lungs in rich, creamy smoke.  I would
usually explode in orgasm near the end of the cigarettes, light another to
calm me down, and then prepare myself for school.  All the pleasure Adina had
alluded to when discussing her own association with smoking was borne out by
my own experience and my morning routine fuelled my addiction even further.

All this time, Adina was still my best friend in the world.  Although I would
sometimes go to the mall or to sleepovers with other (smoking) friends, I
spent most of my free time with soul mate.  Adina would lecture me on my
smoking, not to get me to cut down, but to show me how to properly hold a
cigarette, how to inhale and exhale in various ways, how to use a holder, and
generally how to act seductive with a cigarette.  Now smoking two packs a day,
I had ample opportunity to practice these skills and Adina seemed delighted to
watch.

Besides help with my smoking, Adina was a vital friend in other ways as well.
My own mother was busy working to support the family and, being an immigrant,
was not able to relate to my everyday life very much.  Adina would give me
advice on how to deal with friends and teachers and even answered questions I
had about boys.  Since I developed rather young and was interested in my
appearance, she helped me with makeup and clothing and even took me shopping.
By the time I was almost fourteen, I had matured into an attractive teenager
and was eliciting responses from boys at my school and even at the neighboring
high school.

Although I had never had any sexual experiences with any boys, I found myself
increasingly interested in them and became both self-conscious and flirtatious
in their presence.  More disturbing for me, I felt I also had a sense of
attraction to girls at my school as they grew and developed.  During my
morning sessions, I would sometimes imagine one of my more attractive
girlfriends pleasuring me to abandon.

One warm evening, Adina and I were sitting in the grass behind her house
smoking and talking as we often did.  I had just extinguished a Virginia Slim
but was wanting a further hit of nicotine.  I leaned over toward Adina with
parted lips, expecting her to offer me a drag off the smoldering Pall Mall she
was holding.  Instead, she planted her lips on mine and, instead of
withdrawing, I reciprocated and we began to lightly kiss.  For nearly a minute
we explored the smoky recesses of each other's mouths before we pulled apart
in mutual embarrassment.  After that, we sat there staring at the ground.  I
nervously lit a VS Menthol 100 and told her I'd better go inside and get
started on my homework.

We didn't speak about the incident afterwards.  The next Saturday morning my
mom was home so I ran to Adina's for my first cigarette of the morning but she
was still asleep.  I lit a Pall Mall (I sometimes started the day with
something stronger) and, after smoking it down in only five drags, went to her
room.  She was still in bed sleeping so I climbed under the sheets with her as
I sometimes did.  This time, however, I found myself holding onto her body and
nuzzling her with my face.  I began to kiss her neck when she awoke.  Without
a word, she turned toward me and we embraced and kissed each other deeply on
the mouth.  Our hands began caressing each other, hers reluctantly but mine
with quickening passion.  Korean families are very conservative about body
contact and, since Anna and I had our own rooms, I had rarely even seen the
naked female form.  Now my hands were exploring a grown woman in every
possible manner.  I was surprised at the softness of her milky white skin and
at how large her breasts were.  I had never noticed them under her flowing
print dresses but now I realized they were enormous.  Knowing the role of
nipples from fondling my own body, I reached for hers and began to caress them
and then kiss them carefully.  Adina responded with a gasp and arched her back
as I continued my work on her swelling nipples.  With trembling hands, she
reached for a cigarette and just managed to light it without dropping the
lighter.  She began violently pulling the toxic fumes into her blackened lungs
as her chest expanded to receive its reward.  Seeing her reaction, I continued
with my actions and her chest vaulted up as if it wanted to touch the sky.
Somehow she managed to extract three more Pall Malls for the pack and
hurriedly lit all three as my tongued flicked across her engorged nipples.
She puffed ferociously on all three simultaneously and thrust her hand between
her legs and her whole body began to intensely quake and quiver.  Thirty
seconds later it was over and I moved away stunned as she lay panting through
the nearly spent Pall Malls clenched in her lips.  Although we had talked
about what happens to men and women and I had been servicing myself for
awhile, seeing someone else come was a shock.

After that day we were physical lovers as well as soul mates and often
literally inseparable.  Despite my youth, Adina never held back in her efforts
to sexually please me.  Several times daily she would have my distended,
rock-hard nipples protruding an inch from my tiny breasts and my twat dripping
down my long, thin legs as she would sit in a chair and indulge my body with
her tongue as I stood before her, rudely panting while sadistically sucking on
two or three cigarettes at a time. She also instructed me how to best satisfy
her needs and we would sometimes lie in bed for hours gratifying each other in
turn.  We both now smoked incessantly when together and the boost in my
nicotine levels brought me alive.  Our methods required that we accommodate
our need to smoke throughout sex and, through trial and error and many holes
burnt in Adina's satin sheets, we learned to chain-smoke ourselves to orgasm
after orgasm.

Adina's body was like a new world to me and I explored it without inhibition.
Despite the toll smoking had taken on her face and her pale, smooth skin which
was an unhealthy yellow, the rest of her body was remarkably taut and
youthful.  She had a diminutive frame, a small back, a flat tummy, and a tight
rounded ass that I loved to squeeze.  I would let her waist-long, thick, black
hair down and braid it while allowing it to absorb the ever-present smoke
hanging in the air.

I probably most fascinated by Adina's monstrous breasts that projected out
from her narrow chest.  Although they were remarkably firm for her age, the
sheer enormity of Adina's bulbous tits demanded that they remain leashed in
public. Without a sturdily constructed brassiere intervening, they would sway
gracefully but hang precipitously at the mercy of the earth's gravitational
pull.  Her 36DD bras seemed like tents of lace to me at the time but they had
the extra advantage, when worn, of creating sufficient cleavage in which Adina
could conceal a pack of VS Menthol 100s for emergencies if she didn't have
pockets.  Not having breasts of any significance myself, I would spend hours
playing with the mounds of flesh that rested on Adina's tar-saturated lungs.
Most days, I would return from school, go to Adina's house and immediately
escort her to the bedroom.  After removing her tits from their restraints, I
would settle her down on the bed and begin to suckle her.  Between drags of
cool menthol, I would use lips, tongue, and teeth to electrify the nipples
that dangled from the ends of these pendulums.  She would lie there reading
and smoking until her excitement mounted at which time she would light two new
cigarettes with a wicked smile and shove my head between her legs to finish
the job.

I knew that, no matter what happened in my life, Adina would always be my one
true love.  I told her this and a smile like I had never seen beamed across
her face.  Although she pleased me in every way, I wanted her to be the one to
dispossess me of my physical virginity.  When I told her this she just smiled
and, three days later, I came into her bedroom after school to find her
sprawled out on her bed naked and surrounded by new toys.  One of these was a
strap-on which, when secured around her, was a menacing sight.  I moaned in
anticipation but was forced to wait until Adina inserted a steely Dan inside
her own dripping cunt and lit a cigarette for each of us.  She then came
toward me, mounted me and proceeded to guide the head toward my waiting love
box.  What came next was indescribable but I finally understood the ecstasy of
being violated.  We continued to aid our lovemaking with such devices settling
on a long, thin, flexible, two-headed dildo as our favorite.

Our smoking escalated as our affair continued.  Adina was now smoking more
than six packs a day and I was closing in on four.  We reveled in the thought
that my lungs were blackening like Adina's as the struggled to deal with the
monumental amounts of poisonous tar they were being subjected to.  I began to
acquire a permanent smokers cough and my voice gradually deepened and lost its
velvety smoothness.  

I was not the only one in the relationship to be undergoing changes, however.
Adina seemed revitalized by our liaison as well.  At my request, modeled the
formal fashions she kept sequestered in her closets.  She explained that she
wore these for her husband and I demanded that she do the same for me now.
Soon after, she purchased some more decorous clothing for me as well.  She
began wearing makeup and caring for appearance more carefully.

As our love grew, we became more careless in flaunting out illicit affair.  We
decided if we were discreet, we could safely dine together in public and even
try to visit a nightspot.  I took great pleasure in preparing for such nights
on the town.  I would first choose a pair of stiletto heels for her to wear.
Then, I would carefully lace a corset under Adina's ribs drawing it tight
until her midsection was a tiny cylinder.  I would then strap on a flimsy,
decorative bra and gather her massive bosoms one at a time and place them each
in a immense cup of sheer lace where they would rest precipitously seemingly
on the verge of plunging out.  Over this, she would slip on a slinky,
form-hugging, spaghetti-strapped dress that barely covered her ass and that
displayed her cleavage as it heaved in unison with her drags on a VS 120.  I
dissuaded her from wearing panties so I was free to stroke her when we were
driving.  My own style tended toward the more practical both out of physical
necessity and a desire to appear as mature as possible.  Nevertheless, I
sought to accent my ass and the sizeable curve of my hips as much as possible.
Like Adina, I eschewed panties and wore heels that accented my long, smooth
legs.

Riding through town in Adina's restored Packard with thin cigarettes perched
in long ivory holders made feel like black-and-white movie stars.  We would
eat in the dark recesses of the smoking sections of exclusive restaurants to
avoid stares at our often obvious displays of affection and our incessant
smoking.  Afterward, we would repose in a jazz club before returning to
Adina's for passionate lovemaking.

Our relationship continued throughout the rest of my grade school years.  With
Adina's encouragement, I dated some with boys at my school and even fucked
several of them and, despite my smoking-taxed stamina, earned a reputation of
being a rather aggressive lay.  Once, I even engaged in kissing and heavy
petting with a known lesbian from my school but her butch demeanor was
unappealing to me.  As far as I know, Adina never had relations with anyone
else while we were together.  She even admitted to me that she was jealous of
my other friendships even though she encouraged me to have a normal teenager's
social life.  She confessed that, while I was at school, she would sit and
pine for me as she smoked continuously.  Even though smoke was taking an
extremely heavy toll on her -- she could barely climb the stairs to her porch
and she was wheezing after less than a minute of walking -- she showed no
signs of breaking the grip that smoking had on her.  At seven packs a day, she
was spending nearly every waking moment with a lit Pall Mall in her lips and
even waking every few hours at night just to feed her appetite for nicotine.

Although my school grades were not superb (due no doubt to various
distractions), I was accepted to several universities I applied to and I made
the painful choice to attend far away in North Carolina.  I was not rejecting
Adina but I knew in the back of my mind that a little separation would
probably be in order.  I knew that I wanted to be with her forever and that,
after college, I would be totally free to make that choice openly.  Adina
understood this and encouraged be to pursue my career goal of being an
accountant.  I left my hometown with the double blow of leaving my parents and
my lover behind.

All freshmen were required to live on campus and I had signed up for a smoking
dorm room.  My roommate, however, was one of those sorority types who smoked
about two packs of Marlboro Lights per week.  Needless to say, she was
unwilling to put up with a committed smoker and the hazy air, overflowing
ashtrays, and nightly coughing fits that accompanied me.  After about a month,
she swapped rooms with the roommate of a sorority sister of hers and I was
paired with Andrea, a petite, buxom brunette.

Andrea was a much more serious smoker with a two-pack-a-day Newport 100s
habit.  She explained that she had been grossly overweight in junior high
school and had started smoking mainly because of teasing.  Boys at her school
joked that she should start smoking to cut her weight but she took their
advice seriously and, through a combination of nicotine therapy and natural
developments, she slimmed down and filled out in all the right places.  She
had since used this to every advantage and, wearing outfits that looked like
she had been poured into, already had numerous upperclassmen vying for her
affections.  Her bubbly, outgoing personality was totally opposite mine but we
got along great and quickly became good friends.  Through her influence,
Newport rapidly became my brand of choice, too.

I visited home twice during my first semester and had two weeks at Christmas.
Despite competition for my time from my parents, I spent much of that time
with Adina reaffirming my commitment to our love.  But she was often too
fatigued to do more than lie in bed and chain smoke while I regaled her with
college stories or tried to pleasure her body.  She admitted that, since I
left, she was dealing with her solitude by smoking two Pall Malls concurrently
nearly all the time and that she was probably smoking more than ten packs a
day.  She was having her groceries delivered now and she had the milkman
deliver two cartons when he came twice a week.  Even then, she said, she would
sometimes run short and have to drive to the store for more herself.  Despite
my own four-pack-a-day addiction, I was worried about Adina and left with a
heavy heart.

When I turned nineteen during my second semester in college, my parents
prepared to move back to Korea.  Their store had been relatively successful
and they were able to save enough to pay for my college and to retire on.
When they found a buyer for the store, they decided to return to their
homeland to live while my mother's parents were still alive.  They knew they
would miss seeing me and Anna so frequently but, since Anna was now in
Washington, DC and I was in college in North Carolina, they knew we wouldn't
be together that much anyway.  Soon after they had made this decision, I
received a call from my mother one morning that I'd better make an emergency
trip home.  She informed me Adina was ill and had been hospitalized.  I
immediately began the long drive home and arrived late that night.  I greeted
my mother at the front door of our house and she told me that Adina had
returned home but was very ill.  She gave me a basket of sandwiches and gimbap
and some beverages and said I should go next door and stay with Adina as the
nurse who was caring for her would not be in until the following morning.  I
thanked my mother and ran over to Adina's as fast as I could.

She lay in her bed propped on pillows and surrounded by cartons of Pall Malls
on one side and a huge bowl that was serving as an ashtray on the other.  Her
lacy pink nightgown and her satin sheets were dusted with a layer of ash and
she drew shallow, wheezing breaths through a half-smoked cylinder of tobacco
hanging from her lips.  I rushed to her side and removed the nearly spent
cigarette from the corner of her mouth, stubbed it out and quickly lit a new
one for each of us.  I quickly held the fresh Pall Mall to her lips and
replenished the smoke in her lungs as she winced and gave me an anguished
look.

"Oh honey, darling.  Why do you have to see me this way."

Her strained voice sounded like a rasp on sandpaper as she whispered the
words.

"Hush, love," I said, kissing her cheeks and forehead.

We both remained silent to the obvious gravity of Adina's condition.

I lay beside her in her bed and kissed her neck and breasts all the while
feeding her cigarette after cigarette to calm her incessant desire for
nicotine.  Her intake would pause every few minutes as she burst into spasms
of weak coughing as her dying lungs attempted to expel some of the accumulated
tars of her poisonous habit.  I would rub her shoulders and chest and try to
soothe her obvious pain.  She soon drifted into an uneasy sleep and I followed
shortly and was out like a light.

I woke with a start to sun streaming in the picture window through a noxious
haze that engulfed me.  I quickly turned to Adina and she was awake quietly
smoking on her pillow with a contented smile on her face.

"I hope my darling slept well.  I was afraid that my restless sleep might have
disturbed you.  Now I can only sleep about thirty minutes without waking for a
cigarette."

"I slept just fine," I said trying to appear as cheerful as possible as I lit
my first menthol of the day.

By the light of day, Adina appeared a pale yellow and was only a shadow of her
former self.  I offered her some of the food my mother had sent but she
refused.

"I really can't eat much at all anymore."

The nurse arrived shortly thereafter and I excused myself to wash up and get a
bite to eat.  The nurse intercepted me as I was coming out of the bathroom and
briefed me on Adina's condition.

"Your friend has suffered from emphysema for years and she was recently
diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.  The combination and her refusal of any
treatment gives her only a very short time left.  We had to discharge her from
the hospital because she would try to smoke at every turn."

I nodded in understanding but fled as I began to cry.  After several
cigarettes, I composed myself came back in Adina's room about twenty minutes
later and told the nurse I would be staying here and there would be no need
for her to remain.  I settled down with Adina and we began to talk; I about my
school and what I was doing and she about all that had gone on in town since I
had left for college.  We smoked continuously as we reminisced about old times
and laughed about our lives together.

On in the evening, Adina's breathing became more labored.  Her spent lungs
could barely lift the huge breasts that still protruded from her now emaciated
frame and it became more difficult for her to draw the vital nicotine into her
lungs.  Seeing her struggle to inhale her essential infusion of smoke, I
switched to smoking Pall Malls and began to deliver the dosage directly from
my mouth to hers in CPR fashion.  I began kissing her mouth as I snuggled
against her body and wrapped my arm around her bosom.  I fed her smoke
throughout the evening reserving little for myself but it was becoming more
difficult for her to breathe.  As she took her final breaths, I blew smoke
onto her beautiful face so she could smell its fragrance in her final moments.

I was unconsolable for a week after Adina's death and stayed in my room at
home barely venturing out.  My mother was understanding and she cared for me
and comforted me as best she could.  Although I knew it had taken the love of
my life from me, tobacco was my best friend during my mourning and I survived
on a steady diet of mentholated cigarettes to ease my wrenching pain.  I
returned to school and was able to resume my studies but there was a gaping
wound in my heart for many months to come.

My roommate Andrea supported me immeasurably throughout the rest of the
semester and our friendship achieved new heights.  We roomed with each other
the next three years and had many interesting times together.  When I turned
twenty-one, I was notified by the lawyer responsible for handling Adina's
estate that I was the sole beneficiary of all of her assets.  I assumed that
her now empty house was largely what this entailed but was informed that, in
addition to the house and the land it was on, I had been bequeathed a fortune
of over five million dollars after estate taxes in cash and investments.  The
lawyer informed me that, although Adina was only forty-six at the time of her
death, she had planned her finances well and her estate was earning almost a
half million dollars a year.  I was surprised at the revelation of Adina's
age, since she had always kept it a secret from me.  I had always thought she
was much older but I suppose her smoking had so prematurely wrinkled her face
that her youth had been concealed.  After the shock of my new status had worn
off, I began to plan my future after college.  I decided that, with my
accounting degree and my income, I could work nearly anywhere and that, after
college, I would move back to my hometown since I had Adina's house to stay
in.

I have been out of college now for three years and I am still living in
Adina's house.  My parents sold our house and returned to Korea as planned but
my sister visits me often.  After I graduated, I started working at a
prestigious local accounting firm but their restrictive smoking policies
forced me to decrease my cigarette consumption to three packs per day.  After
a year of suffering, Karen, a smoking coworker, and I decided to start our own
firm and, with her handling most of the customer relations, I am free to do
most of my work at home by computer.  The upside has been that I have been
able to resume my normal five-pack-a-day intake of cigarettes.

There are numerous downsides to constantly irrigating my scarred lungs with
rich, mentholated smoke.  Besides the obvious health concerns and the danger
of starting a fire, there are many small inconveniences to deal with.  Falling
ash has burnt holes in countless blouses and brassieres as well scarring
tables, upholstery, and car seats.  Because I am careless in trimming my ash,
I soon accumulate a dusty layer of ash throughout the house and even in my
bed.  My ashtrays quickly overflow and spill onto the surrounding tables.  As
I sit here typing at the computer, my keyboard is covered with ash that falls
from the ever-present cigarette perched between my lips.  The interior walls
of the house require frequent repainting as they rapidly yellow in the
incessant haze.  Even the skin of my hands and face is yellowed from the
constant drift of tar-laden smoke from the end of a smoldering Newport.

Living here in Adina's house is like a dream for me.  Karen and I socialize
and like to go dancing and pick up men on the weekends but we only hang out
with smokers and I will only bring home men I know are committed nicotine
addicts.  I occasionally entertain here and my guests (only smokers, of
course) marvel both at my decorative abode and the omnipresent thick haze.
Plus, being here constantly brings back fond memories of my growth from girl
to woman under the tutelage of my true love.  I still sleep in the same
four-poster bed we shared and her closet is still filled with the beautiful
clothing she would wear for me.  I still get good use of the bedroom toys she
introduced to me years ago.  I find that, the longer I stay in the house, the
more like Adina I become.  Although I still get out often, I value my time
alone and spend hours sitting on the porch smoking and watching the breeze in
the trees and thinking of my lost love.

I decided that I wanted to wear the dresses that so gorgeously defined my
deceased lover.  I have a typically Oriental slim figure with well-rounded
hips and a nice ass and I determined that I wouldn't let my lack of upper body
endowments stop me from wearing her fashions.  I researched my options and
then flew to Los Angeles to have plastic surgery performed by top surgeons at
a hefty premium.  The result is magnificent.  The skin of my formerly small
breasts is now stretched tightly over two new melon-sized bags of saline and
is more sensitive than ever.  My large, dusky nipples, perched on the
extremity of these spheres, now become erect at the slightest provocation.  In
the privacy of my house, I love to stimulate my tits and dream of my lover as
I smoke my way to orgasm after orgasm.  To display my new acquisitions to the
world, I now wear mostly silk or sheer blouses that are often too small for my
ample rack.  When I erupt into one of my frequent coughing fits, my bosom
quivers and strains at the fabric of both brassiere and blouse threatening to
pop buttons and burst free from its captivity.  When I venture out with my new
look, wearing skin-tight pants on my swaying hips and heavy makeup and
flaunting enough cleavage to get lost in all the while dangling a Newport 100
from the corner of my pouting lips, I know that I am absolutely irresistible.

Looking out my window now, I see new neighbors are moving into my old house
next door and I see they have a teenage daughter.  I'd better light another
cigarette and go have a look?


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