The Way It Never Was, Part 3

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 

3. The "Jenni Incident" 



It took almost six months after our separation before I could watch one of 
my infamous smoking videos. Initially, I was tempted to pitch them all, 
blaming their existence for the failure of our marriage but deep down, I 
knew that was a fallacy. Plus, I enjoyed the videos from time to time and 
knew I'd never replace them once pitched. I had to keep reminding myself 
that there was nothing bad in their content and Renee should have never 
been offended or felt competition from them. 

One evening while perusing the Internet, I came across a new female smoking 
web site that was most intriguing. It took the video performances I'd been 
watching to the next level. It was not full erotica but certainly more 
explicit than the decently dressed models merely breathing in and blowing 
out smoke. This site showed pictures of scantily clad beauties (some 
topless) touching themselves while smoking. The short downloadable video 
clips provided a hint of the much more focused manner in which these 
gorgeous models would smoke. Almost every puff was either a French or snap. 
There were multiple exhales, nose exhales and triple pumps all done very 
proficiently in a highly seductive fashion. Most of the girls were only 
wearing panties or slinky black negligees with legs spread on king-sized 
beds. Several of the clips showed them smoking Virginia Slims Luxury Lights 
120s. They looked hot and I was hooked again. 

At first, I figured I would only download and store the video clips on my 
computer but after visiting the site several more times, it became obvious 
that I would make a purchase. I remember being nervous and excited as I 
typed in my on-line order. I never felt this way when I ordered any of the 
previous tapes. I was clearly indulging in a new level of hedonism. 

Meanwhile, the divorce proceeded smoothly, or as smoothly as things can go 
considering you experience every gut-wrenching human emotion possible from 
crying in public to hate and vengeance during the proceedings. Renee and I 
agreed to a no contest divorce and never had to go to court. For about six 
months she was very agreeable but also chillingly business-like. I wouldn't 
describe her as peaceful during the process but she moved with a robot-like 
purpose and seemed eager to get everything behind her pronto. Judging from 
her quick actions, I figured she had some guy waiting in the wings but as 
near as I could tell, no mystery man ever materialized. 

As I said, we were well into our divorce when I got the nerve up to watch 
some of my smoking videos. Dating was still out of the question although I 
had entertained some fantasies about some of the younger, single (and 
smoking) woman at my work. The videos were a nice, harmless diversion but 
they reinforced my strong desire to have a relationship with a woman that 
smoked. 

It was late on a Friday when I arrived home. I had remained in possession 
of our old house while Renee and Ashley had moved back to Augusta to be 
closer to her family (and their money). I was feeling pretty good because I 
had just come from my accountant and was excited to learn that I'd soon be 
able to retire at age 39 due to my small trust fund coupled with some 
well-timed investments. My only goal was to be able to keep the lifestyle I 
now enjoyed, which was fairly middleclass to slightly above. I was sick of 
being an engineer and no other occupation excited me. I was eager to 
seriously pursue some interests that I'd been putting off all my life. I 
was going to golf more, ride my bike more and possibly take up hang 
gliding. The divorce settlement actually allowed me to realize my dream of 
not having to work even sooner than I had expected. Had Renee and I stayed 
together, we would've needed a bigger nest egg simply because she was not 
done `upgrading' homes and automobiles. I probably would've worked till I 
was 50. Early retirement was about the only `upside' of our uncontested 
divorce. Renee wasn't working either and enjoyed an even higher standard of 
living thanks to Mommy and Daddy. 

So here it was, Friday night. I would be giving my notice on Monday and 
quitting work for good in two weeks. I wanted to celebrate - do something 
with someone, but an empty house confronted me. I was feeling a little down 
when I reached in the mailbox expecting to find it stuffed with more of the 
usual documents from Hilderbrand & Hastings - Renee's attorney. To my 
surprise, the new smoking tape, simply titled, "Four Seasons" had arrived. 
It had only been three days since I'd typed in the order. Some service, I 
marveled. 

I held the tape in my hands. It was a full ninety minutes worth of video 
and contained much more than the sexy yet grainy 30-second video clips I 
had viewed on the Internet. I knew I couldn't wait so I went right to the 
VCR on top the big screen TV in the family room and slid the tape in - 
immediate gratification - another `upside' of living alone. As I prepared 
to press `play' I noticed a brief note inserted in the protective tape 
cover. It merely said to the effect, thank you for selecting our product 
and the producer hopes you enjoy the show. They admitted they were a `new' 
company to the smoking video scene and had provided two bonus scenes at the 
end of the tape claiming these scenes were not advertised on the Internet. 

I was psyched. I needed an outlet. I felt I deserved to watch this tape. I 
missed being married and I missed the company of a woman. I knew I was 
getting closer to venturing out and actually dating but for now, tonight, 
this tape was going to have to do. I leaned back on the sofa and pressed 
the play button on the remote control. 

I was not disappointed. This footage was much better than anything I'd seen 
on my other sixteen tapes. The lighting was superb and revealed wonderful, 
full exhales. This young `start-up' company was successfully capitalizing 
on all the techniques learned by the players that had pioneered the 
industry over eight years ago. The scenes were protracted versions of the 
clips I'd seen. There were four models each with their own 25-minute slot 
based on a season of the year. All smoked either an all-white 100 or 120 
and were fully naked in some of the scenes. Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" 
musical score served as background and seasonal clothing worn by the models 
before they striped created the four-season atmosphere. In places, the 
director / editor kept the audio in and in some instances, the girls wore a 
lapel mic. 

Probably the hottest scene in the tape (with the exception of the `bonus' 
material - more on that later) was the summer season with a blond named 
Jenni. She appeared to be about 25 and had a very tanned and toned body. 
She looked dazzling in her little black panties while playing with herself 
on the silk bed sheets. And she was easily the most experienced smoker of 
the four. In this particular scene the director dialogued with her off 
camera. He asked her what she was going to do this scene (as if he didn't 
know). 

Jenni said, "I'm going to smoke two this time." 

She then slid two very long menthol cigarettes out of the Virginia Slims 
120s box resting on the bed next to her. She placed both between her lips 
and used a thin, gold lighter to light them. The tips glowed brightly as 
she set the lighter back down and stared straight into the camera. Her puff 
lasted a very long six seconds. (I know because I rewound the tape and 
counted-one one-thousand, two one-thousand-). Jenni instinctively inhaled 
the smoke from both cigarettes and deeply sighed before her multiple breath 
exhale. The smoke leaving her mouth was thicker than any single cigarette 
I'd ever seen, regardless of strength. 

The director (still off camera) asked her, "Do you enjoy that - smoking two 
cigarettes?" 

She calmly answered, "It's deeply satisfying," she said, with the emphasis 
on `deeply'. "And when I masturbate, this is the best way to get off." Then 
this lovely smoking goddess put both cigarettes between her lips and 
reclined onto the bed as the tips again glowed brightly. Her puff lasted 
another six seconds and she kept the dual VSs in her mouth while she 
removed her panties. Dense smoked poured from her nose in the bright light 
as she started another puff. She began rubbing her clitoris and moaned 
softly. It was almost a purring sound. Her knees were bent and the camera 
couldn't show her moist vagina but it wasn't necessary - you could hear her 
juices as she stroked herself. I was concentrating on the unbelievable way 
this young women could consistently inhale the rich smoke. 

As Jenni's cigarettes were about half gone, her moaning became louder and 
she touched herself with more direct purpose. Her orgasm was approaching 
and she was focusing on getting off quickly. She wanted to finish smoking 
before reaching the throes of passion so she took one last puff and set the 
cigarettes in the ashtray beside the bed. The lighting was done so well 
during this scene that the smoke coming from Jenni's lips was illuminated 
long after she quit pushing it out. Her breathing became a series of rapid 
pants as her orgasm griped her. Every moaning push revealed a thin stream 
of smoke still leaving her body. 

This scene starring Jenni became one of my favorites on the tape. After 
Jenni was done in bed she appeared to fall into a contented sleep then the 
scene was cut. What the director did next was brilliant. The following 
scene opened in a large bathroom with Jenni sitting at a vanity dressed in 
a plush white robe with matching head towel and smoking a fresh VS 120. I 
suspect the desired effect was to show a "behind-the-scenes" look at one of 
the models after a hot shoot. The director was interviewing her (still off 
camera) as she applied a light coat of Noxema to her face. The implied 
message was she'd just emerged from the shower. 

Director: "I think that was a wrap. I'll have to take a look at it tonight 
but we're done shooting. How do you feel?" 

Jenni: "Like I could do it again." (laughs) 

Director: "We got some good stuff in that scene. We don't have to do it 
again, unless you want to." 

Jenni: "Oh, I don't know. If you think I'm sick of smoking, I'm not." 

Director: "I can tell." He says this while she is in mid-puff on her VS 
120. 

Jenni: (noticing her exhale in the large mirror in front of her) "I like 
watching myself smoke. I've never done this before." 

Director: "I like watching you smoke. You did very well in today's shoot." 

Jenni: (giving a coy smile) "Really? Do you think they'll like it?" 

Director: "Yes." 

Jenni: "I'm still ready for some more. Can we do something else?" 

Director: "Yes." 

The scene ends here and cuts into the second piece of bonus material. The 
tape that I thought would be rated "R" if such standards for these things 
existed just moved ahead to "X". 

Jenni entered the bedroom she'd previously been in. She was wearing nothing 
but a black bra, some tight crotch-less panties and dangling a long VS 120 
from her lips. She lay down near the edge of the bed with her knees bent 
and bare feet hanging over the side. Then, to my surprise, a man entered 
the scene. His back was facing the camera. He was young and well built. He 
lit Jenni's cigarette from her sleek gold lighter. As soon as she started 
her long customary drag, she raised her legs in the air. Then, this man 
that had just lit her VS 120 moved forward, remained standing and 
effortlessly slid his huge, erect member deep inside her. There was no 
perfunctory kissing or anything. He walked in, lit her cigarette and thrust 
into her in one very efficient move. 

I never really expected a scene like this and it made me weak just 
watching. At first Jenni rested beneath him with her legs raised while 
smoking her cigarette. He rocked slowly back and forth inside her as she 
took puff after puff. Many of her exhales hit him straight in the face. His 
face was still not visible by the camera, which was fine by me. 

After about six puffs, Jenni started to come alive. What was amazing to me 
was this guy hadn't come yet. Jenni started by asking him, "Do you like 
fucking me while I smoke?" 

The faceless man answered, "Yes." 

"I can feel you so deep inside me." 

She took a long puff. 

"Do you want some of my smoke," she asked in a soft voice, holding it in 
her lungs while she talked. 

The man didn't answer and no further words were spoken. He leaned down and 
touched his lips to hers and she began the smoky exchange. Then Jenni began 
directing him by placing her hands on his rear. She was getting ready to 
come again and wanted him in exactly the right spot. The smoking and 
fucking lasted about another minute until they both appeared to come at the 
same time. 

That was it. The filming stopped as soon as they reached their apparent 
climax. I was so hot after seeing that scene that I rewound the tape and 
watched it about 10 more times before going to bed. I couldn't get this 
Jenni out of my mind. And the guy she had, I couldn't believe how lucky he 
was. I thought to myself, where do you go to get a job like that? But this 
Jenni - Wow! I mean she was so sexy and full of energy. She didn't come 
close to the stereotypical tart that some web sites put up as their erotic 
smoking stars. She looked very fit and suburbanish - if there is such a 
word. I imagined her dashing in from the tennis court or out of an aerobics 
class before filming her scenes in the video. She didn't have that 
deer-in-the-headlights look or the punky, tough bitch look either. She 
acted very confident yet appeared sweet and vulnerable throughout her time 
on camera. The more I thought about her, the more I wanted to meet her. 
After all, she was a real person - not some fetisher's fantasy. She walked 
into that studio, filmed her scenes and then walked out. She was loose in 
the real world walking around this very moment. I was getting sweaty just 
thinking about it. I dialogued with myself. 

Careful, careful, I said. Get a grip. What do you think you are going to 
do? 

I just want to see her - see her from a distance. Maybe see her smoke. 

No, no. There's no way. How are you going to find her? 

You're right, there's no way. I couldn't find her, could I? 

No, just forget it. 

You know, I could find her. I could find the address of that little dot.com 
video company and from there I could track her down. 

Are you mad? They protect those women from guys like you. If you even got 
near her, there'd be big trouble. 

You're right, you're right. What am I thinking? Okay, let's just forget it. 

Good-but she was hot though, wasn't she? 

Hell YES she was hot! 

You could find her. 

I know I could find her. 

You could find her and make love to her - while she smokes. 

I know I could. I know I could. Find her. Find her and fuck her. 

As I lay awake in bed that night letting this little schizophrenic exchange 
run its course, I had no conceivable notion of the real-life trouble that 
was about to enter my life. The Dark Side loomed on the horizon. What 
started as harmless chitchat in my head was about to morph into probably 
the most whacked out thing I'd ever done. I hadn't completely lost the 
bubble but I was quickly headed down a path where you have to ask in 
retrospect, just what the hell was I thinking? 



On Monday morning, I submitted my resignation and gave the customary 
two-week notice to my boss. It didn't come as surprise to him. I think he 
knew I was going to quit. My performance had suffered during the divorce 
and I'd never quite made a full recovery. However, he couldn't believe I 
was not going to work somewhere else - that I didn't have something waiting 
in the wings. I told him I planned to take a year off - get my head 
together-the sort of bull you tell someone that you don't really like but 
feel compelled to offer them some type of explanation. I didn't mention 
full retirement. At this point, I myself was still having a hard time 
imagining life without a `real job'. 

On Tuesday morning, I took a step closer to this `dark side' - I came to 
the conclusion that I would not wait any longer to establish contact with 
my "Jenni". I decided not to show up for work and instead started packing a 
suitcase. Yes, I know - "Hereafter known as Mistake #1". Mistake #2 was 
going into the garage, opening up the trash and rescuing the white envelope 
that once contained "Four Seasons". I noticed this amateurish company 
actually put a return address label in the upper left corner. It was just a 
PO Box but the city was listed below - Pikeville, Virginia - a little town 
just south of Manassas. The postage cancellation and time stamp were also 
shown as Pikeville, VA. A short 8-hour drive, I told myself. Nothing wrong 
with driving up and seeing the countryside of Northern Virginia. I like 
quaint little towns anyway. No harm in visiting this Pikeville - see the 
sights, talk to some people. 

By noon, I had thrown some clothes in a bag and rounded up some snacks from 
the kitchen. I kept telling myself that this trip was merely a diversion in 
an otherwise ordinary week as I placed a small ice chest filled with a 
six-pack of Cokes in the seat next to me. Yes, a change of scenery, a brief 
adventure, then back to reality. I left my driveway with one firm goal in 
mind - to make Pikeville by 8 PM. 

I made pretty good time on the Interstates and checked into a brand new 
AmeriSuites hotel on the edge of town around 7:30. I was surprised at how 
different the town looked compared to the picture I had set in my mind. I 
imagined a rural burg amidst a rolling countryside with a downtown Main 
Street, a few greasy spoon restaurants and large, dilapidated Victorians 
built in the 1890s clustered around a weedy town square with a bandstand. 
The only detail I'd gotten right was the rolling countryside. Maybe 30 
years ago the rest of my picture would've been complete but at present, 
Pikeville was undergoing a renaissance. There was a Main Street and there 
was a restored shopping district but if there were ever any grand 
Victorians they had long been hauled away with the aging bandstand and 
other artifacts from the previous century. The suburban sprawl around 
Washington DC and Fairfax County that had steam rolled Manassas years 
earlier was now spreading its tentacles through Pikeville. The common 
fortifications of suburban prosperity had already been set in place. Large 
strip malls populated with Starbucks, Borders Books, Blockbuster Video and 
Target stood next to the McDonalds, Outback Steakhouse, Applebees and a 
myriad of other food outlets. Wide boulevards with grassy medians and newly 
planted poplar trees lead the way to a host of businesses, medical 
buildings, a library, a police station and hotels so new that the stucco 
was still wet. The AmeriSuites was situated between a Residence Inn that 
was still under construction and a Courtyard by Marriott. The best benefit 
of this raw capitalism was that my room only cost me $55 a night and there 
were enough nearby places to eat that I could try a new restaurant every 
night for two weeks and never have to touch my car. 

The next morning I left the hotel at 9:00 after partaking in the 
complimentary breakfast buffet which consisted of Raisin Bran drawn from a 
huge plastic bin, warm milk, a stale pecan roll and amber fluid that looked 
like apple juice but tasted like cold vinegar. 

I wasn't sure which direction to head or what I really expected to 
accomplish. I had landed in nouveau suburbia crammed with swim and tennis 
subdivisions, soccer fields, jogging paths and housewives driving 
late-model SUVs that choked the entrances (and exits) to all the shopping 
areas. I decided to walk down the grassy boulevard from my hotel towards 
what was old downtown Pikeville. It was already getting warm and I was 
thankful I'd decided to wear shorts, a tee shirt and my old running shoes. 

I've found that I usually have pretty good instincts when it comes to 
navigating in a strange area. I was hoping to find the post office that 
held the box from whence the video came. As I headed downtown I could see a 
tall pole with an American flag gently waving in the breeze - typical of 
the type you see in front of a government building. I knew this one-horse 
town couldn't have two post offices so I figured my search had started 
well. The zip code on my envelope matched the block numerals on the outside 
of the building. I walked inside. 

The air-conditioned environment was pleasant despite the musty paper smell 
that permeated the lobby of the old Pikeville PO. It took me about 10 
seconds to find PO Box # 1534, the one supposedly owned by ESS Video 
Source. The box itself was common of the hundreds lining the wall. It was a 
five-inch square door with an old style combination lock on the front 
resembling a small knob. 

Okay Sherlock, now what? I asked myself, staring at the bank of boxes. I 
truly had no idea. 

"Can I help ya?" asked a weak yet authoritative voice behind me. 

I jumped. I must've looked like I didn't belong here or was lost. I figured 
I'd just say I was waiting to meet someone. When I turned around I saw the 
voice belonged to a small, aging man close to 80 with baggy pants and a big 
key ring around his belt that must've held several dozen gold and 
silver-colored keys. "Oh, hello. I was out jogging and it was getting hot. 
I just wanted to come in here and cool down before I start back the other 
direction." 

He laughed to himself. "Boy - it's not hot out there. You must not be from 
around here. Never seen you out jogging these parts before." 

Great, I thought. I'm being watched and I've only been on the street for 20 
minutes. "Yeah, I'm staying just up the road at the AmeriSuites." I was 
really annoyed with his challenge and with myself for feeling I owed him an 
excuse. 

"You run down here from that hotel? Doesn't look like you have a drop of 
sweat on you." He made a silly laugh again. 

I was getting ready to tell him to mind his own business when just over his 
shoulder I noticed a tall, well-dressed blond woman head right for Box 
1534, quickly dial the combo knob and open it up. She had a freshly lit 
all-white cigarette cocked in her left hand. This was not Jenni but 
could've passed for one of the other models in the ESS videos. I watched 
her pull out several business letters, tuck them in a pouch and close the 
little door then quickly leave the lobby. Her moves were very efficient and 
she was in the building for no more than 15 seconds. 

The little interloper that was questioning me saw my eyes move beyond him 
and turned to see what the distraction was. After the blond left he turned 
back and eyed me suspiciously. 

I couldn't let her just walk away. "Pardon me," I said. Then I rushed to 
the glass door, half opened it and noticed the blond streaking away in a 
white Ford Expedition. "Shit," I muttered. I tried to get a license number, 
anything, but it was too late. She had already made a right turn and was 
out of sight. 

"You know her, fella?" the old man asked me. He sounded more than just 
casually interested. 

"No. Do you?" 

He considered the question. "I know lotsa people. Started carrying the mail 
here long before you was born-certainly before all them new-fangled malls 
and hotels went up. Big waste. We don't need all this happy horse shit. 
Town was doin' fine before they tore up all the fields and laid a thousand 
acres of asphalt. Fact, that place you're stayin' at was on Ned Tolleson's 
chicken farm. Ned died some years back and his stupid-ass kid sold all the 
land and-" 

I rolled my eyes and interrupted him. "Really. Do you know her?" 

"Who?" 

"The women. The one that was just in here." 

"Seen her around." He looked back at where she stood. "Shouldn't be smokin' 
in here though. Government outlawed it in the buildin' 10 years ago. Course 
I don't care - smoked for 40 years myself. Had to give it up when the doc 
told me I was killin' myself. I told him I wasn't quittin'. Then he said I 
was killin' my new grand-youngin so I quit-for my daughter and the kid. 
Stupid doctors. Whadda they know?" 

I decided this simple yokel might hold some key to my quest so I warmed a 
bit and said, "Yeah, doctors. They don't know everything they want you to 
believe." 

He chuckled some more then extended his hand. "Name's Earl Shelnut. You 
from around here?" 

"Mark Todd." I shook his hand. Didn't I just tell him I'm staying at the 
hotel up the road? I figured he must be softer in the head than I first 
suspected - which in this case was a good thing since I needed to do a bit 
of prying. "Just visiting," I announced. "That woman though-I think I 
recognized her. Who did you say she was?" 

"Didn't say." 

So much for being soft-headed, I thought. "Well, who is she? I think I 
could place her if I heard her name." 

Earl again looked back at where she stood as if to help him remember. 
"Family name's Laudermilk. Course her last name's changed a half-dozen 
times I reckon. Don't know if she's still married to that last one or not." 

"She's been married six times?" 

"Naw. But certainly mor'an twice." 

"Well, I don't know any Laudermilk. Do you know her first name or perhaps a 
married name? Maybe where she lives?" 

"Look, young fella. You got more questions `an a census taker from up 
north. Can't recall too much. Just know she went by Tammy Laudermilk as a 
girl. Knew her daddy - he died last year - the cancer got him. She works 
over on Maple doin' somethin' for some lawyer or businessman. Got on there 
shortly after they put Jimmy in the ground." 

"Maple? Where on Maple? Do you know an address?" 

"Just `round the corner off Main. If I had to guess, I'd say its 165. It 
was once Johnson's Feed Store. Had it remodeled when the malls came in. You 
can't miss it." 

I smiled and held out my hand. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. You've been a big 
help. Nice to meet you Earl." 

Earl shook my hand, looking mildly confused. "Don't reckon I know what I 
helped you with." 

"You just helped me find an old acquaintance." I reached for the glass door 
eager to be going. 

Earl eased farther inside the post office. He looked back and said, "You be 
careful, young fella." 



I decided I'd go back to the hotel and get my car for the drive over to 165 
Maple. Despite the value in meeting Earl, I didn't feel like any more 
chance encounters by walking down the sidewalk in this old section of town. 
The generic feel of the new malls provided an easy cover for a newcomer but 
the downtown post office made me feel a bit like a whore in church. 

When I made my first pass at the offices at 165 Maple I was surprised at 
level of activity. The small parking lot in front was full and people 
dressed in nice clothes were coming and going from their cars. The 
converted building had an upscale look with doctor, dentist and lawyer 
stamped all over it. After a second trip around the block I pulled into the 
narrow parking lot and snagged one of the last open spaces. I had changed 
from my running clothes back at the AmeriSuites in anticipation of meeting 
this Tammy. I had not yet considered what I'd say but knew something would 
form in my mind once confronted with her - just like with Earl. 

My heart rate increased noticeably when I saw Tammy's white SUV in one of 
the covered parking slots and, as luck would have it, the office suite 
number was painted on the overhead of each space. Things were progressing 
almost too easily. Keep rolling the dice, I told myself as I knocked 
lightly on her office door, then pushed it open. 

"Excuse me. I was looking for Dr. Grisham's office. Is this it?" I asked 
trying my best to appear lost. 

Tammy was sitting at one of two desks in a small lobby. The other desk was 
empty. There was a second door that presumably led to the other spaces in 
the suite that had a push button lock above the knob. The lobby itself was 
austerely decorated. A few cheap pictures, probably purchased at Target and 
hung hastily, rested above Tammy's desk. There was a PC, a phone, a fax and 
two chairs. The nicest thing was the highly buffed hardwood floor that was 
part of the original building before the conversion to separate offices. 
Tammy didn't look up when I spoke. "Around the corner, second door on the 
left," she offered brusquely. 

"Oh, okay. Thanks." I lingered at the door. 

Tammy finally looked up, frustrated that I was still there. 

Our eyes made contact. "Tammy?" I asked. 

She cocked her head slightly. "Yes?" 

"I thought so. You probably don't remember me. We met briefly at your 
father's funeral last year. Jimmy Laudermilk, right?" This was a long shot 
and I was lying my ass off but had already decided that this was an 
acceptable risk. 

"Oh. We did? I'm sorry, I don't think I remember." Tammy looked 
embarrassed. "Are you Tom, Tom Albright?" 

I felt guilty. The circumstances surrounding this `chance' meeting were way 
out of character for me. I never imagined myself taking a fantasy this far 
but my actions and conversation felt so natural. It just flowed. "No, I'm 
not Tom. My name's Mark, Mark Smith." I lied again with a bogus last name. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mark. It was a crazy time. Mama was a basket case. Still is 
actually. She's a pain in my side. Did you know both my folks? Were you a 
friend of Daddy's" 

"Uh, it's a long story. Actually, I was a friend of a friend." 

Tammy was thawing a bit and flashed her first smile. "Well, I've got some 
time if you do. If you're a friend of the family, then, well- Can you step 
outside with me?" 

"Huh?" 

Tammy stood. I was again taken by her height - at least 5' 10". She walked 
to the door. I had no idea where we were going until she revealed a pack of 
cigarettes in her hand - Benson and Hedges Menthol, full flavor. "Let's 
walk out here. I need to smoke and they won't let us do it in the 
building." 

"Oh, okay." I must've looked dumbfounded. Only minutes before, I felt in 
control. Now Tammy had thrown me off balance driven by her nicotine 
craving. And she wanted to pursue my supposed link to her family. 

We stepped onto a patio and sat in the warm sun at a picnic table with two 
benches. Tammy wasted no time lighting her cigarette with a Bic disposable. 
Her cheeks collapsed as she sucked hard. After a long double pump, she 
extended her pack and sweetly asked me if I'd like one. 

The lid on the box was open revealing an almost full pack. I noticed the 
alluring contrast of the pure white menthol cigarettes against the 
distinctive blue green pack. It was tempting to take one and enjoy it with 
this beautiful woman but the problem was I didn't smoke - well, not 
recently and certainly not in public. I smiled and shook my head to 
indicate no thanks. 

"I know, I really shouldn't. I've quit more times `an I can count," she 
said. "But I'm weak." 

I took the opportunity to ask just one smoking-related question. "Is it 
really hard to quit? Is the nicotine that powerful?" (Okay, two questions.) 

"Honey, it's pure hell to quit. But the best thing about quittin' is when 
you go back, it's almost like discovering smoking all over again. It's 
tastes and feels absolutely dreamy." Tammy followed up with a long puff. 

I was admiring her exhales. There is something wonderful about a 
full-flavor exhale. The stream is completely visible in almost any light 
condition unlike the `low tar' brands that reveal only an anemic imitation. 

After watching a second and third push of rich smoke from her lungs Tammy 
asked, "So, you knew my father, how?" 

I didn't expect her to resume this topic and it momentarily caught me off 
guard. "Oh, like I said, he was a friend of a friend - of my family. My 
father knew Earl Shelnut. I was in town so I went to the funeral with 
Earl." Now I was starting to shake. I was really hanging out there with 
this level of fabrication. 

"Earl, as in Earl the mailman? He was at Daddy's funeral? God, I sure don't 
remember that. He and Daddy hated each other. But if you say you came with 
him-hmm, I just don't remember." 

I remained silent and watched another one of her spectacular exhales. 

Tammy seemed to admire the multiple bursts of smoke she was breathing out 
before continuing. "Bless his heart. He was there during the funeral and I 
never saw him. That was so nice of him to come." 

Tammy seemed touched by this posthumous gesture so I didn't dare retract it 
or attempt to add to it unless pressed. I did what any good liar would do - 
I changed the subject. "So, Tammy-is that a lawyer's office you work in?" 

She giggled. "Oh, no. We ain't a law firm. Fact, we hate lawyers." 

"We?" 

"Yeah. Me an' my boss. All of us, actually. You ain't no lawyer are you?" 

Here she was, tossing the questions back at me again. I had to stop that. 
"No, I'm not a lawyer. So, what is it you do do?" 

"Oh, we copy and package videos and send `em out. There's four of us. 
Pretty boring stuff but the money's good." Tammy slid out another long 
white cigarette and lit it. 

"Video copies? Like for commercial companies?" 

"Something like that." 

If I didn't know the real answer, I'd think that Tammy's company was making 
bootleg copies of Hollywood movies and selling them on the black market. 
Her elusive answers and contempt for lawyers would make sense. "Are they 
copies of movies?" I sensed I was going too far with my obvious probing. I 
smiled and touched her leg. "I'm not a lawyer - or cop for that matter - I 
promise. Just curious." 

Tammy looked me right in the eye for a moment then said, "Oh, what the 
hell. I used to make up uh, you know, what's that big word for making 
something sound better `an it is? A euphe-" 

"Euphemism?" 

"Yeah, a euphemism. I used to make up euphemisms for what we do. I'd say we 
was in videography or cinematography or some other bullshit. But that 
always raised more questions than it answered - especially by my mother. 
What we do is produce, edit, copy and ship videos. Videos of models smoking 
cigarettes." 

I was stunned by her quick and open admission but I played dumb so I could 
keep asking more questions. "You mean a `how to' video on smoking? Like 
instructions for someone wanting to learn?" 

Tammy laughed. "You know, when you ask it that way, it almost sounds 
believable - like we DO make them for training purposes. At least I would 
understand that if I didn't know better. No, our audience is mainly men 
that come to us over the Internet that like to watch women smoke. We give 
`em what they want." 

"So you shoot videos of women smoking? Just women?" 

"Yeah, just women." Tammy took a long puff on her waning cigarette. After 
inhaling she said, "I was the first." The latter comment sort of slid out 
as an afterthought. 

"Really? I'd love to see it sometime." 

Tammy frowned. "No you wouldn't. It's terrible. I'm just glad we started 
makin' more without me in `em. No one buys that first one anymore, thank 
God." Then her eyes again met mine. "Oh, don't tell me, you have it too I 
suppose?" 

"Have what?" 

"It. What Ron, my boss, calls it. The fetish." 

"I don't know. I never really thought about it." (I know, I know, if ever 
there was a boldface lie-) 

"Tell me Mark-it's Mark, right?" 

"Right." 

"Tell me Mark, do all men have this fetish?" 

"I don't know." It felt good to admit the truth this time. 

"But you do have it, don't you? 

"I never heard it called a fetish before but, yeah, there is something 
powerful and attractive about a nice-looking woman smoking. It can be 
sexy." This was the first conversation I'd had with anyone (except the bits 
and pieces with Renee) on women, sex and smoking. It was both titillating 
and refreshing and I had nothing to lose discussing it with this new 
acquaintance. 

Tammy stubbed out her cigarette and pulled another from the pack on the 
picnic table. She licked her lips and swished her hair back before 
inserting it then let it dangle as she reached for her lighter. "I'd really 
love to go to lunch and finish this discussion," she said in a low husky 
voice with her B&H bouncing in her lips. She touched the lighter's flame to 
the tip, inhaled audibly and asked, "Would you like to go to lunch with 
me?" 

I felt my stomach twist and light beads of sweat breakout on my forehead. 
"I'd love to." The words came from my mouth without even a second thought. 



Tammy drove us in her SUV to a TGI Fridays near my AmeriSuites. It was 
after 1:00 so we were fortunate to miss the heavy lunch crowd. We sat in 
the smoking section (of course) which was a wall of four booths in the bar. 
There was still a couple in one of the booths and several men at the bar. 
Tammy had been smoking on the drive over and just as we got to the 
restaurant door, she took a final puff, dropped the cigarette to the ground 
and walked in. The hostess greeted us and asked the perfunctory `smoking or 
non?' to which Tammy replied, "Smoking," with remnants of her final puff 
coming from her nose and mouth. The hostess and I laughed politely. As we 
were being led to our seats, it occurred to me that Tammy was cashing in on 
my fetish. Basically, it was unspoken that she'd smoke for me if I'd buy 
her lunch. I now plainly understood what was going on but didn't care. 
Hell, isn't this what I came here for? Still, it felt a little weird for a 
woman to be boldly playing me in this manner. 

"Isn't it a little late for your lunch break? Are you okay being gone from 
your office this late?" I asked as we sat down. 

"I'll be fine. Today's a slow day. We're doing a major copying this 
afternoon and I'll be busy all day tomorrow. I shouldn't have even come in 
except to pick up and sort the mail." Tammy wasted no time getting another 
cigarette going. 

The gal from behind the bar walked over and handed us menus and asked for 
our drink order. I planned to ask for a Coke or ice tea but Tammy decided 
she wanted to have a large glass of red wine. Of course, it's on me, why 
not? 

"Fine by me," I said. "Make it two." When the waitress / bartender left, I 
asked, "Large?" 

"You'll see - it's like a double. It comes in a large glass." 

Soon we had our wine. I lifted my eyes over the menu to admire Tammy. She 
looked very attractive holding her long white cigarette in the same hand as 
her wineglass as she studied the menu in her other hand. This was the type 
of woman that would draw my attention like a magnet if I had seen her 
sitting in a bar. Sightings like this were rare and today the best part 
was, she was sitting across from me and I was talking with her. She was 
`with' me. 

Still, I was nervous. I barely knew this stunning woman of approximately 
30. I took a long sip of wine and directed my questions back to her 
business. "So, are you really shipping a lot of these tapes? Is there 
really a decent market for what you do?" 

Tammy laughed as she pushed out some smoke. "Oh yeah. Business is great. 
We're getting more hits every day from the web site and more orders all the 
time. I'm makin' good money. We all are. The secret is to not only have a 
new tape ready to release but always be ready to offer something new in it. 
That's the key. Ron, my boss, is a genius at that." 

"How many different tapes have you released?" 

"Twelve. We try to have a new one each month. We've come a long way from 
that first video that had me sitting on a couch simply smoking in various 
positions." 

"Did you enjoy doing the shoot? Was it hard?" Now I really wanted to see 
it. 

"I thought I'd enjoy it but it was more work than I imagined. After smoking 
about a pack in less than two hours, I thought I'd never smoke again. I was 
sick of it. Course, back then I was only used to smoking about a pack a 
week." 

"So making the video made you ultimately increase your smoking?" 

Tammy grinned shyly. "Yeah. I guess. I need it more now." 

We managed to finish our wine about the same time. I felt a wonderful glow 
inside and a nice buzz developing. I imagined Tammy was feeling the same. 
The waitress came with two new glasses. We both giggled and feigned 
embarrassment at having a second glass set in front of us but nonetheless 
were delighted. We made pleasant chitchat until the food came, which was 
really just an appetizer we ended up splitting. Tammy picked lightly at the 
food and continued sipping her wine and smoking. 

The conversation was fading and it was apparent, at least to me, that we 
were still two strangers. The lunch was beginning to feel forced like our 
previous meeting and I was wondering what was going to happen next. 
Finally, I just blurted out, "So where do you actually film these videos? 
Do you have a studio?" 

Tammy didn't answer. I thought she might be annoyed with my probing. 

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be nosy. Just curious." 

"Oh, that's all right." A smile formed on the corner of her lips. "If you 
want to know the truth, we made that first movie at the Courtyard. I got a 
room under my name and let the film crew in the back door. We were sneakin' 
around with all the equipment but no one caught us. The only problem was I 
got us a non-smoking room and when we were done, that room smelled worse 
than a redneck bar at 2 in the morning." 

"You said you smoked a pack in two hours?" 

"Yeah. And another pack the next day before check out. Tammy laughed and 
took a long puff on her B&H. "That room was trashed," she spoke, through 
her exhale. 

I felt it was time to make my request - one that occurred to me upon 
entering the restaurant. I felt she would say yes. "Tammy, do think it 
would be possible to see one of those videos? I know you're supposed to 
order them but I would just like a preview-maybe see the one you're in. I'm 
really curious." 

She grinned showing either embarrassment or modesty or maybe both. The wine 
was in us both, so nothing was sacred ground. "Sure. Come back to the 
office with me and I can let you watch in the copying room, or I can just 
give you a copy. It's no big deal." Then she giggled. 

"Great," I said. "Either works for me." 



I picked up the check and Tammy and I took the short ride back to her 
office. She smoked the entire time. I suspect being relaxed from the wine 
was adding to her desire to smoke. In fact, I felt like smoking too but 
knew I wouldn't. 

When we entered the small lobby, Tammy noticed the message light blinking 
on her phone. Absentmindedly, she pushed a button that activated the 
playback and darted through the lock-guarded door into the back room. She 
must've thought she'd only be gone a second, presumably to grab her tape 
for me, then pop back. 

The message began to play. "Tammy? It's Jenni. Pick up if you're there." 
Pause. "Oh, shit. Well, just tell Ron I can't reach him on his cell phone 
and I can't make the shoot tonight. He'll know why. Call me later tonight 
if you can." She left a phone number, saying it was the "real house" before 
there was a click. Then the machine recorded the date / time. The whole 
thing played and Tammy was not back yet. It was JENNI, the one from `Four 
Seasons' - I recognized the voice. I remember thinking, they DO use their 
real names. I quickly memorized the number. 

After another minute or so, Tammy emerged from the back with a tape in her 
hand. "Sorry, we're all out of my video, thank goodness. I simply hated it. 
But, here, take this." 

I held out my hand. 

"It's our latest. Shot with our latest model - Jenni. You can have it. My 
way of saying thanks for lunch. I really have to get back to work so enjoy 
it when you have a chance." She was basically telling me our time was up, 
that I needed to get going. 

"Thanks Tammy. Thanks a lot." Then, as I turned to the door, I made the 
biggest blunder ever imaginable. The problem was I didn't realize it until 
much, much later. My blunder: "By the way, that message finished playing 
while you were in the back." 

She looked at me and cocked her head. "Huh?" 

I gestured at the phone on her desk. 

"Oh, yeah. That. I completely zoned out." She came over to say goodbye. We 
hugged lightly and I delighted in smelling the combination of smoke and 
perfume in her hair before stepping outside the door. "Stop by again 
sometime," she spoke. 

I felt so good from this entire encounter that I almost skipped back to my 
car. I was blissfully ignorant of the consequences of reminding Tammy about 
her message. I looked down at the tape and noticed it said, `Four Seasons' 
- a rerun-oh, well. 



Had I been a fly on the wall back in Tammy's office, I imagine the events 
that followed went something like this: 

Tammy walks to her phone on the desk and hits the `play messages' light 
again. She listens. She sees Jenni's cell phone number flash in the caller 
ID window. She hears Jenni give a different number (her "real house" 
number) as the message concludes. 

"Shit," she mutters. 

Tammy gets up from her chair and goes to the window with hopes of seeing me 
still in the parking lot. I'm already gone. "Shit," she mutters again. 

Tammy sits back down and starts to think. She replays our `chance' 
encounter in her office less than two hours ago. She remembers our lunch 
and how captivated I seemed with her continual smoking while I peppered her 
with questions. Then she remembers handing me Jenni's video - JENNI'S 
video, it screams in her mind. Things lock into place and she decides she 
has to make two phone calls, immediately - one to Ron and then one to Jenni 
- to warn her. 

When I got back to my room at the AmeriSuites, I noticed they provide video 
players in the cabinet above the television - something I'd missed until 
now. How convenient, I thought. I hadn't brought my copy of `Four Seasons' 
so I decided to watch the copy Tammy provided before I got onto my laptop 
computer. I slid the tape into the mouth of the VCR and watched the lead-in 
come up on the screen. Using the remote, I quickly fast-forwarded to the 
`bonus material'. While I watched Jenni laying on her back smoking and 
gently being fucked by this mystery man, I logged onto the Internet and did 
a reverse people search by inputting the phone number I'd heard on Tammy's 
machine. Again, I thought that this might be a long shot but my luck held. 
It turned out that this Jenni on my TV screen, this lovely 25-year-old 
blond enjoying intercourse while smoking a very long Virginia Slims 120, 
lived at an address in Manassas approximately 20 minutes away. 

I watched the bonus section of `Four Seasons' several more times. Each time 
I watched Jenni's smoke-laced pants of ecstasy prior to her orgasm, I knew 
I had to meet this woman. And, courtesy of Tammy's answering machine, I was 
going to - today. 



Finding Jenni's house, if you could call it a house, was simple compared to 
the seemingly far-fetched idea I had in my mind on how to meet her. On my 
drive northward, I had fabricated yet another set of circumstances that 
would make our encounter appear completely as chance. The phone number I 
entered traced to a Thomas Standel located at 512 Pebble Beach Drive. This 
was where Jenni lived too. It had to be - after all, this was her `real 
house'. Presumably her last name was Standel and she was married to this 
Thomas fellow. But now, as I navigated the streets near her neighborhood, I 
had second thoughts about this actually turning out to be 
Jenni-from-the-video's address. Tammy had mentioned that there was good 
money to be made in the Internet video world but certainly not enough to be 
living the lifestyle I could now see around me. 

The house on Pebble Beach Drive was located on a golf course, a private 
country club of sorts that sat behind a guarded, gated community. I had a 
map showing me exactly how to get to the house but this manned citadel in 
front of me wasn't part of picture. I made a quick U-turn in front of the 
guard and headed back along the perimeter wall of the neighborhood about a 
quarter mile before stopping the car. I could see rooftops of large houses 
sitting on large lots poking above an 8-foot high stacked-stone fence. 
Fortunately, I left my running gear in the backseat after changing from my 
run-walk earlier this morning. I struggled to get out of my jeans and back 
into my running shorts in the front seat of the car. As soon as I had my 
shoes on, I hopped out of the car, looked quickly in both directions and 
easily negotiated the wall surrounding Jenni's neighborhood. 

I landed on a golf path that linked two fairways lined with houses 
(mansions) on each side. The home's backyards opened up to the large green 
fairways providing no access whatsoever to the streets that served them. In 
other words, I was cut off from the sidewalks and Pebble Beach Drive unless 
I chose to trespass and cut through one of these yards or successfully 
negotiate the golf paths until they led me to the clubhouse. Not wanting to 
test the alarm systems of these huge homes (or alert their large dogs) I 
decided it best to jog along the trail until I could locate the 18th hole 
and cut through the golf course parking lot. 

Everything was going great. I was enjoying a pleasant late afternoon jog in 
wonderful weather along the lush golf course. No sooner than a minute, I 
heard a golf cart behind me approaching rapidly so I slowed and moved off 
the asphalt trail in anticipation of it passing me. I looked back expecting 
to see two men with clubs in the back driving to the next tee. What I saw 
instead was a solitary man about 60 dressed in a rent-a-cop outfit looking 
me right in the eye. He ground the battery-operated vehicle to a halt. 

"No jogging on the golf course!" was his gruff opening line. 

"Huh?" 

"There's no jogging on the golf course. Don't you know the rules?" 

His questions resembled a teacher scolding an 8-year-old and I bristled. 
"Apparently not!" 

He took out a pad and spoke, "Lot number, please." 

"What?" I looked at his name badge above the small logo of the country club 
embroidered into his breast pocket. It said `Cliff' 

"Okay, street address then. I can use either." 

"What are you talking about?" I asked. 

"You're being cited. Claiming to not know the rules is no excuse. You 
signed a copy at closing." 

"I did?" 

"Yes, everyone signs. Rules is rules." 

I didn't like the tone in Cliff's voice but I was hardly in a position to 
argue. After all, I was trespassing the moment I hopped the wall and 
judging from his aggressiveness, he'd probably love to learn that fact. No, 
this rent-a-cop believed from the get-go that I was a resident, which was 
good. "Well, how do you propose I get off the course, officer?" There was 
derision in my voice when I pronounced `officer'. "I can't jog off now, can 
I?" 

"No." Then he studied my face for a moment. 

Uh oh, I thought. 

"You're a visitor, ain't you? Or did you climb the wall?" 

"Of course I didn't climb the wall," I said indignantly. "Yes, I am a, a 
visitor." 

The cop gave me a suspicious look. "Who're ya seein'?" 

I gave the only name my head held. "Thomas Standel, over on Pebble Beach 
Drive." 

He reached for a booklet on the dash of his cart and opened it. His finger 
moved down a page of addresses. "Thomas Standel, 512 Pebble Beach. Okay, 
get in." 

My stomach sank. "No." 

"No?" The cop was truly puzzled. I was resisting `arrest'. 

"Well-no. See, Cliff, I'm out on a run. I don't want to go back yet. Can't 
you just take me back to the streets and I'll jog the rest of the way?" 

Again, the suspicious look. He unsnapped a cell phone from his belt and 
dialed the number next to the Standel's address. I stood by while the phone 
rang in his ear wondering if I should make a break for it - run back the 
way I came and get back over the wall to my car. Finally he punched the 
phone off and said, "No answer." 

"Of course there's no answer. They're not home. I'm out for a jog while 
they're gone." I tried to make my voice sound forceful and somewhat 
condescending. 

"Okay, fine. Get in and I'll take you to the parking lot." 

I complied. As soon as I sat down in the right seat, the cart accelerated 
rapidly. 

"Just so you know, I'm going to have to cite them." 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

"Rules is rules," he said for the second time. "They'll call the 
Homeowner's President, he'll probably rip it up but that ain't my concern." 
He was mumbling. 

The ride to the clubhouse took about five minutes. Neither Cliff nor I said 
another word. He dropped me near the entrance of the 18th hole, I got out 
and that was that. As I slowly jogged away, I could feel the little cop's 
eyes all over me. Great, I thought, he's going to tail me. I made a left 
turn onto the street in front of the clubhouse and headed towards Pebble 
Beach. I wasn't exactly sure I was going in the right direction but I 
couldn't let Cliff know that. 

After about 15 minutes of walk-running, I finally arrived at the Standel 
`estate'. I remembered the map's details fairly well and basically went 
right to it after departing the clubhouse and Cliff's cop cart. The house 
was magnificent. It was situated on a large lot adorned with a highly 
manicured, rich green lawn. There was a sculpted aggregate driveway leading 
up a slight incline to a 3-car garage that was detached from the house. A 
breezeway linked the garage to the main building. The house itself was an 
all brick two and a half story home with three separate chimneys rising 
above the roofline. The somewhat small rear yard backed up to one of the 18 
fairways on the golf course. I quickly assessed its value at about $1.5 to 
$2.0 million. I'll say there's money in smoking videos, I said to myself. 

I quickly looked back down the street as I walked to the main portico. I 
sensed Cliff was in loose pursuit and I needed to keep acting my part. I 
stood at the large mahogany wood with inlayed leaded crystal front door 
wondering just how to word my sentence to whomever answered the door. Then 
I noticed the rent-a-cop golf cart rounding the bend in the street about 
ten houses down. Damn, he IS following me, that dick, I thought. I rang the 
doorbell. "Come on, come on," I said out loud. 

Cliff's cart was gaining when a man about my age opened the door. He was 
dressed in a stylish Greg Norman golf shirt and freshly pressed khaki 
Dockers and holding a 12-14 month-old baby girl. And, before he could say 
anything, another girl of about 3 walked up behind him, hugged his leg and 
looked at me. "Yes? What can I do for you?" he finally spoke. 

Three pair of eyes were locked on me-well, really four pair. Cliff was now 
two houses down and stopped. I said very softly, "I'm sorry. I live over on 
Forest Hills Lane (a street I noticed on the jog over) about a mile from 
here and I seem to have twisted my ankle while out jogging. Would it be too 
much trouble to let me use your phone?" 

The man smiled broadly. "No, not at all. Come on in. I'll go get it." 

I immediately `limped' inside and shut the door behind me. Good riddance, 
Cliff, I thought as I smiled. I stood in the massive marble-floored foyer 
waiting politely. 

"Come on back into the kitchen," the man called. "Or do you need to sit 
down? Is there anything else you need? Ice?" He was being so nice. I 
noticed him handing the one-year-old to a small Hispanic woman. "Thanks 
Rosa," he muttered softly. The three-year-old followed the woman and baby 
into another room. 

"Uh, no. I think I'll be fine," I called back. I again faked a mild limp as 
I followed his voice to the back part of the house. When I got to the 
kitchen, I slowly sat down on one of the barstools and took the cordless 
phone the man handed to me. "Thanks." 

"Tom Standel," said the man as he extended his right hand. "You say you 
live down on Forest Hills?" 

"Yes, yes, for the time being. Out for a little run this evening and 
planted my foot wrong. Mark, uh, Mark Smith." I shook his hand and decided 
to give him the same bogus last name that I gave Tammy earlier. "Actually I 
am house sitting for some friends while they're over in Europe." 

"Oh? Who?" 

I winced. I thought, here goes- "The uh, the Rotoloni's. He's really my 
uncle. They're retired now. Travel all over the place. You know `em?" 

Tom put his hand on his chin and thought for a moment. "No, no, I don't 
believe I do. I was on the homeowner's board for a couple years but I must 
not've met them. Are they new?" 

"Oh, maybe two years or so." I doubted even the oldest house in this 
neighborhood was over five years old so two years was a safe bet. 

"Hmmm. Guess we've never crossed paths." Tom was thankfully about to let 
the topic go but added as an afterthought, "Whom do you need to call? Is 
anyone staying with you down there?" 

God, this guy is quick, I thought. Or, just a cautious neighbor, as all the 
rich folks in this posh development must be. I laughed. "I was going to 
call my ex-wife since, yes, I AM down there alone. She lives about ten 
miles from here." 

"Your EX-wife? Ten miles from here? Good god, man, I can take you home." 
Tom was smiling and certainly looked like he wanted to help. "No need to be 
calling ex-wives tonight." 

"Well, I really wasn't looking forward to it." 

"If I needed any help, calling MY ex would be the LAST person I'd think of. 
Can I get you something to drink? Something strong perhaps to, how shall I 
say, deaden the pain?" He winked at me. 

"Well, if you insist. What are you having?" 

Tom looked at his watch. "I need to be getting along shortly. Well, we do 
have time for a quick one. How `bout a little Chavis?" 

"Sure. Why not?" 



After Tom returned to the kitchen with two Chavis Regals on the rocks, he 
suggested we move into another room. He led me into a very nicely decorated 
den just off the formal living room. I limped behind him into this rich 
burgundy-colored room mixed tastefully with dark wallpaper and leather 
furniture. 

The room seemed quiet so I resumed the conversation. "So, you have an `ex' 
too, huh? Are you living alone now?" 

"Oh, no, no. I'm remarried. The two children you saw me with are our 
girls." Tom tugged at his watch. "Jennifer should be home by now. Hopefully 
you can meet her before I have to go." 

The name Jennifer flashed through my brain. Good lord! Tom's saying his 
wife's name brought me back to reality. Until that moment, I'd assumed that 
even though I'd found Thomas Standel at 512 Pebble Beach Drive, I never 
would have guessed that there was a Jenni, or a Jennifer connected to this 
domestic scene, living in THIS house. I'd simply made a proverbial wrong 
turn in my search and I didn't really care. I mean, two little adorable 
baby girls and a rich husband? This certainly could not be the Jenni from 
the video - not `my' Jenni. But the coincidences were just too many. The 
phone number Jenni gave on Tammy's machine matched this house. Tom's 
referring to his wife as `Jennifer' had cinched it. No question. With the 
efficiency of Sargent Joe Friday (and some blind luck) I had navigated my 
way to Jenni's place of residence all in a single day. And, after meeting 
Tom and his cute little family, I was sick about it. 

I was staring into my drink when Rosa stuck her head in the den and asked, 
"Excuse me, Mr. Thomas? Dinner is ready now. Will you and Mrs. Jennifer be 
having company tonight?" Rosa smiled nervously at me. 

Tom looked up. "Sure. Sure we will. Will you stay for dinner, Mark?" 

I held up my hand to protest. "Oh, no. No, thanks. I never intended to get 
invited for dinner. I mean, look at me. I'm wearing a sweaty running shirt 
and shorts. I can't stay. Maybe you can just run me back to my place." I 
reached down and rubbed my `bad' ankle. 

"Nonsense. We're not formal tonight. In fact, I'm going to have to leave a 
bit early. I'm flying to London tonight on the redeye out of Dulles." Tom 
turned to Rosa. "We can eat when Jennifer arrives." He looked at his watch 
for a third time in five minutes. 

"She here now, Mr. Thomas. Her car just pull in." 

"Great. Wonderful. Let's eat then." Tom turned back to me. "Can I help you 
up. Will you be all right?" 

I got up myself. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm feeling better already. Thank you." 
Truthfully, as healthy as my `bad' ankle really was, I wasn't feeling fine. 
My stomach ached. My forehead was perspiring. I was about to be confronted 
with the smoking sex goddess of my dreams - the one I had ruthlessly hunted 
down in only a single day, but I wanted to leave. I knew from an instant 
that Tom was NOT the man in the video with her even though I never saw the 
man's face. I also knew in my gut that Tom knew nothing about the video. It 
was just the way he held his daughter and the friendly, hospitable way he 
treated strangers (me) in his home. He was just too nice a guy. He reminded 
me of a slimmer version of Jay Leno. I felt sorry for him and his 
daughters. 



I had about 30 seconds from the time I stood up in Tom's den until I was 
face to face with Jennifer (aka Jenni). If I were going to cut and run, 
this would've been my only window of opportunity. And believe me, I DID 
consider running. To hell with faking the bad ankle. I could've excused 
myself out the backdoor and been at my car in five minutes. 

All thoughts of running ceased when I caught a glimpse of Jenni from the 
window walking under the breezeway from the garage. She was tall and 
athletically built like her friend Tammy. She stood straight and appeared 
confident. When she walked through the door into the family room her older 
daughter ran to her and hugged her. Jenni bent down on her knees and hugged 
her back, then kissed her forehead. The scene was one of innocence and 
bliss. For a moment I thought despite the similarities that this could not 
possibly be the Jenni I had on videotape in my hotel room. But when she 
rose from greeting her child and faced to meet me, I knew. I was in 
momentary denial. Tom's Jennifer and my Jenni were the same person. This 
was the drop-dead gorgeous woman from `Four Seasons' - the one that not 
only knew how to smoke like a pro but made love to strange men while she 
did it. Despite the close ups and quality of the ESS video, Jenni looked 
even better in real life. Her skin was so smooth and alive. Her lips seemed 
even fuller than I remembered. And her blond hair shimmered and danced 
around her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of jeans that hugged her slim 
waist and contoured thighs and an expensive black leather jacket. She was 
simply unbelievable. 

"Jennifer, honey, meet Mark, Mark Smith. Mark twisted his ankle out running 
in front of our house and came to use our phone. I asked him to stay for 
dinner," said Tom. 

Jennifer looked me right in the eye but appeared hesitant, shy perhaps. For 
a moment, she looked like a nervous deer that had been cornered by wild 
dogs. I thought she might walk right past me and leave the room. But in 
seconds her face regained full composure. She flashed an intimidating 
smile, narrowed her eyes and breathed out a quick laugh that sounded more 
like a hiss. 

"Pleased to meet you," I said. I WAS intimidated. 

She held out her hand but didn't speak. Five awkward seconds passed before 
Tom suggested we all sit down for dinner - that he had to leave in about 45 
minutes for the airport. Tom and I sat across from Jennifer and their 
3-year-old. 

After we were settled at the table, Tom lead us in a brief grace then I 
spoke. "What's your name sweetie?" I turned and asked the little 
3-year-old. 

"Kristen," she answered without looking up. She lisped her `s'. Then she 
looked at her father. 

"It's okay," said Tom. Then he turned to me. "We always caution her about 
strangers. I don't think she's certain if she's allowed to talk to you." 

I looked down at this adorable little blond girl stabbing her fork at the 
green beans on her plate. "Kristen, I'm Mark. Now that we know each other's 
names, we're not strangers anymore. I bet you're going to school. Do you go 
to school yet?" I smiled at her. 

Jennifer took the opportunity to speak. "What difference does that make? 
It's not important to you, is it?" She spoke in a soft but very sharp tone. 

Tom looked up. "Jennifer-? Where'd that come from? Mark was just making 
conversation." 

I decided to interrupt. "No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry." I thought of 
Jennifer's motherly protection instincts. "I'm sure you're just being 
careful." 

Despite my graceful retraction of the question, the room definitely chilled 
a few degrees. Jennifer spoke in a hushed voice to Tom but I could easily 
hear. "I'm sorry. I just had a very stressful day and I wasn't expecting 
company." 

Taking the cue, I rose from my chair and said, "Tom, thank you so much for 
inviting me in and asking me for dinner. I really should be going though. I 
don't want to impose..." 

"Nonsense. You're here. Dinner is served. Everything's fine. Jennifer 
doesn't mind." He was imploring her to agree with him. 

Jennifer looked up after taking a long sip from her wine. "No, everything's 
fine. Stay if you'd like." Her voice contained not a trace of conviction. 

"Tough day, honey?" Mark asked for the benefit of us all. Then he looked at 
me. "Jennifer's been doing a lot of modeling up in the DC area this week. 
The schedule has been very hectic. Last week she did a shoot for `Vogue'. I 
think this week she was working with some photographers from `Redbook'. 
This is actually an early day for her. Isn't that right honey?" 

Again, Jennifer looked up from her wineglass after another long sip. The 
wine was about gone. She immediately poured another glass from the bottle 
on the table. "Yeah. That's about it," she said curtly. 

Tom looked befuddled and perhaps a little embarrassed. He was doing a good 
job containing the more direct questions he was probably wanting to ask his 
wife in private. I took this opportunity to again rise and excuse myself. 
This time Tom and Jennifer said in unison, "No, really, stay." Jennifer 
actually reached out and touched my wrist to emphasize the point and 
continued, "It's okay. I AM just stressed and I AM being just a bit bitchy. 
Sorry." 

I looked at Tom and watched him breathe a sigh of relief. 

We continued to eat as the atmosphere noticeably improved. I told Jennifer 
my fabricated story about house sitting down the road and how I'd come to 
twist my ankle. We all started to open up a bit. Tom let it be known that 
his business trip to London was in connection with a contract his company 
had won with British Telecom and that he'd be there 4 or 5 days. Jennifer 
spoke of her photo shoot today. She told it with such flare and realism 
that it almost sounded like the truth. I knew better. No one modeling for 
`Redbook' or `Vogue' would be moonlighting by doing pornographic smoking 
videos for some no-name company. I thought to myself, I guess we're both 
living under pretend guises. And then I thought, poor Tom. 

Finally Tom announced that he had to be heading towards the airport. I had 
only half-finished my pork chop and Rosa was talking about dessert. I told 
them I had to be going but Tom held up his hand. "No, you can stay. 
Jennifer can run you home. You can't miss Rosa's Boston Cream Pie. It's too 
good to pass up." 

Jennifer looked me in the eyes. "No, you just can't." Her voice was flat. 

Tom threw in, "Of course if I know her," gesturing at Jennifer, "she won't 
eat any but you're certainly welcome." 

I stood up when Tom did and shook his hand vigorously. He had shown some 
true neighborhood hospitality to someone in need. He was a good man and I 
had liked him instantly. I told him thank you and watched him kiss his wife 
goodbye on the cheek (on the cheek?), then he and little Kristen left the 
room. He took Kristen upstairs to say goodnight to her and his 1-year-old, 
then he departed the driveway in a dark-colored SUV. 



A chill came over me. I was alone in the informal dinning area of the 
kitchen with Jennifer. I detected a subtle mood shift but couldn't quite 
interpret it. We sat in awkward silence for a minute before she decided to 
ask me if I wanted some more wine. She held up the near-empty bottle. 

Well, she doesn't necessarily want me out of the house right away, I 
thought. I was still feeling the slight effects of Tom's scotch and told 
Jennifer to go ahead and pour away. She drained the bottle's contents into 
my glass and rose to get another from the basement. I nursed the wine I had 
been poured and wondered where Rosa had gone. 

Jennifer was presumably downstairs rummaging around as I sat and stared at 
the house and its expensive furnishings. I scanned the large kitchen with 
its massive built-in appliances and large counter spaces. There was a 
double sink set in an island with one of those elaborate chrome faucets 
rising gracefully above the counter. There was a bar with barstools and 
separate sink, two refrigerators, double oven, separate microwave and a 
trash compactor. The kitchen had large windows overlooking a brick patio. 
Just beyond the patio was a lighted swimming pool. The water was shimmering 
and radiated a peaceful blue glow in the evening twilight. My mind again 
flashed to what Tammy had said about there being good money in smoking 
videos. Yeah, right, I said to myself. This is not smoking video money-this 
is Tom's money and his contracts with British Telecom's money. Jennifer, or 
Jenni or whatever she was called probably is lucky to clear a couple a 
hundred dollars off each video she's in. 

As I sat looking at the golf course beyond the pool, I noticed the house 
lights getting slightly dimmer, then I heard footsteps. When I saw Jenni, 
my heart skipped a beat and I felt a momentary loss of breath in my lungs 
that rose to my throat. She was standing in the archway leading into the 
kitchen dressed in a short black silk bathrobe. In her right hand was an 
unopened bottle of red wine. Her left hand held a gold lighter and from her 
lips dangled an unlit 120-millimeter all-white cigarette. 

Virginia Slims Luxury Lights 120, I told myself. I knew in an instant. Just 
like the one in her last video. The image she projected at the entrance of 
the kitchen was stunning, almost surreal. Yet I suppose in remote 
circumstances, it could've been considered normal. I struggled to look 
casual. I had to suppress the stunned expression I know was written all 
over my face. Assuming she doesn't know I have the smoking fetish, why 
should this scene look so out of place? I asked myself. Well, the robe was 
a bit provocative but why would it be so odd for her to have a cigarette? 
It's her house. And didn't she just say she was going to get another bottle 
of wine? Still, things seemed a bit forced. 

Jenni strolled closer and set the wine on the marble countertop and made 
intentional eye contact. I shuddered. She raised the lighter to the tip of 
her very long white cigarette and lit it with the small flame that appeared 
only for an instant. She drew for at least 4 seconds then parted her lips 
around one side of the filter just enough to suck down the smoke. Her lips 
recompressed and she followed up with another long 4-second draw but this 
time removed the cigarette from her mouth showing a quick, but very dense 
snap-inhale. Our eyes remained locked during the entire process. I was 
getting very aroused and Jenni sensed it. 

The eye contact lasted until Jenni finally decided to release the thick 
smoke from her chest. She actually laughed during her exhale and spoke, 
"You're the one all right." 

I turned my face at an oblique angle. "I don't know what you're talking 
about." Yes I did but nonetheless felt terrified. Somehow Jenni was 
expecting me tonight. She knew about me. She knew about my fetish and was 
now teasing me - toying with me. 

She took another 4-second hit from her VS and walked around the counter to 
get closer. She looked up at me very tenderly, which I took as an act. Her 
eyes were shimmering in the soft light. She turned her head and exhaled a 
smooth stream of smoke into the middle of the kitchen then leaned forward 
and planted a firm kiss on my lips. As shocked as I was by this sudden 
move, I reflexively allowed my lips to kiss her back. When she noticed my 
acceptance, she opened her mouth and our tongues touched briefly and she 
pressed more of her weight into me. 

At first, all I could think of during this kiss was that I had to separate 
- that this was wrong. But normal thought was quickly being blotted out. 
With every second the kiss lasted, it was as if a heavy film was slowly 
spreading over the rational part of my mind, darkening it like Hershey 
syrup. Then Jenni slowly pulled away, took another puff from her cigarette 
and resumed our kiss. There was no longer any rational thought peeping out. 
She owned me. I felt her lips part against mine and expected her tongue to 
meet me but instead felt a warm rush of air from her lungs. I instinctively 
breathed in and inhaled all her wonderful smoke. I remember enjoying a 
marvelous rush of sexual energy just before everything started to blur. 



To this day, I still don't know exactly how I got into Jenni's bedroom with 
her-but there we were. All my rational thought had evaporated with Jenni's 
smoky kiss. Now I was standing at the edge of her bed watching her light a 
new VS120. The room was softly lit from an array of track lights controlled 
by a dimmer switch. Jenni's king-sized bed had an elaborate headboard with 
its own set of lights and mirrors built into matching armoires. She was 
stretched out on her back with her legs hanging over the edge. Her silky 
black robe was opened revealing nothing underneath. 

As Jenni got her cigarette going she whispered to me, "It's okay. Come 
on-make love to me." 

What magic words, I thought. Still, I just stood there in my running shorts 
and tee shirt, and looked at her. I was frozen. I couldn't leave the room 
but I couldn't just walk up to her either, at least not yet. 

Jenni took a luxurious puff that lasted five seconds and deeply inhaled. 
"Come on," she whispered with smoke resting in her lungs, "Slide into me. 
It's okay, really." 

Without checking down below, I knew I was ready. I was so hard I knew Jenni 
could see the lump right through my shorts. But I couldn't move. I don't 
know if it was remorse or fright that kept me frozen but I wasn't able to 
move my legs. I just stared. 

Jenni took her free hand and gently stroked her vagina. She closed her eyes 
and continued to rub as she took another puff. I could hear the wetness 
seeping out of her as she massaged herself. I figured she was going to get 
herself off whether I helped or not. She was going to let me watch. Finally 
she said, "Come closer. I want to feel you inside me. You can rest 
inside-just for a little while." 

My extremities were tingling. Despite being a body length from Jenni, I 
already felt somehow connected - like her skin was touching mine. Her words 
were finally getting through. "-just for a little while," she moaned. This 
proposition seemed to make sense - it was enticing yet rational (yeah, 
right) - I didn't have to make love to her, just sort of rest my cock 
inside her for a moment or two. Without any effort, I slid my shorts to my 
ankles and moved in a straight line and connected to her while she was in 
mid-puff. The contact surprised her and she opened her eyes and made a 
noise while still drawing on her VS120. Her muscles contracted around my 
member and squeezed. My face was only inches from hers and I caught a 
wonderful close-up glimpse of a thick ball of smoke disappearing down her 
throat. While the smoke rested in her lungs, I slowly moved in and out in a 
gentle rhythm. I reminded myself, just for a little while, then I'll stop. 
I even spoke it to Jenni as she giggled underneath me. She took another 
long puff and leaned up from her spot on the bed to offer me her smoke. I 
wanted to take it but felt myself on the verge of coming so I decided to 
move back and slide out of her. I had been on my feet the entire time 
leaning over her so it was easy to simply back away. Well, telling myself 
to move back was easy but actually doing it instead of coming inside her 
was the tricky part. Resisting the natural temptation to come in the 
interest of prolonging the love-making session is probably the toughest 
thing a guy is faced with during intercourse - especially when the woman is 
holding a long white cigarette and has smoke resting deeply in her chest. 

Jenni lifted her head and sighed. I was now in my original standing 
position about a body length apart. "Oh, don't go just yet. We were just 
getting started." She flashed a seductive grin and pushed some wisps of 
hair from her face before beginning another puff. I watched as she blew a 
gentle exhale of smoke directly toward ceiling. The cloud was huge and the 
stream flowed from her lips and hovered just above the bed. I couldn't 
resist her any longer. I told myself, just a little bit more, then I'll 
stop, just a little bit more. Effortlessly, I moved forward and once again 
glided into her slick crease without any guidance from my hand. Jenni 
immediately raised her legs and my pelvis collapsed into hers. I was deeper 
inside her than on our previous contact. If our last little in-and-out had 
taken me to the brink, this position was guaranteed to take me beyond. I 
was pressed up hard against her clitoris and we both felt the added 
pleasure. Jenni stopped long enough to take two quick puffs on her waning 
cigarette then dropped it in the bedside ashtray. She wrapped both her arms 
around me preventing another convenient exit and started rocking. My cock 
was buried deep inside and being held in one position. Her rocking was 
pressing my pelvic bone right up against her clitoris bringing her very 
close to orgasm. I had just passed the point of no return myself. Before I 
exploded inside her, I caught a glimpse of smoke from her two quick puffs 
leaving her nose in bursts that were in sync with our rocking motion. It 
was just like her video shot that I'd watched earlier in the day. Being 
able to be in the picture myself was a treat beyond belief. Here I was, 
making love to this beautiful woman as she smokes, watching her inhale from 
only inches away, feeling her tighten around my cock as the smoke fills her 
lungs, and watching it leave in bursts as we rock ourselves to simultaneous 
orgasms! It was too good to be true-and yet it was. It was all happening 
around me. 



After we caught our breaths, I remember lying face-up on the big bed 
studying the intricate trey ceiling. There was an expensive ceiling fan 
above the bed mounted in the center of the trey. The room was still even as 
the big fan's blades turned lazy circles overhead. I could hear Jenni 
softly breathing beside me and I could see a mild smoky haze that smelled 
as fresh and sweet as her warm exhales. I imagined I was breathing traces 
of smoke that had once rested deep in her chest. I turned my head and 
looked over at her. She was staring up too. We were not in each other's 
arms. In fact, we lay several feet apart, my toes sticking out from under 
the sheets. I couldn't think of anything to say. I was spent. The dark 
syrup that once eclipsed rational thought had ebbed. I was feeling the 
apprehension I'd experienced earlier in the kitchen when I first saw Jenni 
with the unlit VS dangling in her lips. I started to feel as though there'd 
be consequences to face from this little romp. Looking over at Jenni, I 
couldn't help imagining she was thinking the same thing. I didn't have a 
clue- 

Jenni was by no means through. She initiated a very sexy dialog designed to 
get me hard again, which worked. She certainly knew all the tricks. Within 
three minutes I was inside her but with much better control. Jenni was 
sitting on top this time and was able to smoke an entire VS120 before she 
or I came. 

"Shit," she murmured as she rolled off me to fetch another one. With not 
one wasted move Jenni had her next cigarette going and reached for my cock. 
"Come back here," she said playfully with her new VS dangling from her 
lips. 

I wasn't ready for her to get back on top of me. She sensed my reticence 
and rolled on her back and opened her legs. I felt strange as I watched her 
so brazenly make herself available for this continued fucking. I wanted to 
go to her, to get back at it, but there was a nagging alarm going in the 
back of my brain saying, `Consequences, consequences!' Shit, I will never 
pass this way again, I thought. I shouldn't be resisting this beautiful 
smoking blond in bed resting on her back enticing me to enter her loins for 
a third time. My defenses yielded and I entered her. Jenni resumed her 
concentrated puffing. For several minutes, I gave her a good hard ride 
watching a continuous flow of smoke from her mouth and hearing her moan in 
pleasure. Her eyes were closed and I could tell that she was desperately 
wanting / needing to get off. My own instincts were coming back to me in 
this new position but I was not yet ready for orgasm. We were flexing and 
releasing in unison. We both had sweat running off our bodies and Jenni 
continued to smoke. 

Then I heard a noise. Above the rapid-fire squeaking of the mattress and 
Jenni's smoke-laden cries of pleasure, I was positive I heard something. It 
sounded like a thump against the door. Not a knock but a single dull thump. 
I ceased all motion immediately. "What was that?" I asked in a whisper. 

Jenni casually opened her eyes and lowered her legs. "What?" 

"That. That thump. It sounded like it came from the door." I expected Jenni 
to at least look concerned if not panicked. 

"I don't know. I didn't hear anything." She looked me in the eye. "Don't 
stop, I was getting close." She raised her legs back up and took a long 
puff on her cigarette as if to say, come on, no conversation now. 

I resumed fucking her but slower this time just in case the noise came back 
so she'd hear it too. The thump did return. This time I stopped but 
remained deep inside her pinning her so she'd stop her motion and listen 
with me. 

She exhaled some residual smoke in my face and said, "I heard it. Don't 
worry about it." Then she giggled. 

I had to squint. Her smoke hit me right in the eyes. "Why not?" I admired 
her playful mood but I was disturbed by the thought someone could be on the 
other side of the master bedroom door even though it was locked. I thought 
to myself, it IS locked isn't it? 

We remained motionless as her contractions continued to squeeze me urging 
me to resume. 

"Mommy?" It was a tiny voice from behind the door. 

"Oh God!" I whispered in terror. My eyes grew big. It was her 
three-year-old daughter, Kristen. 

Jenni didn't seem alarmed. She took a final puff and stubbed out her 
cigarette. Smoke mixed with her words as she called out, "What is it, 
sweetie?" 

I was still buried inside her and made a move to separate. Jenni reached 
around my back and held me close. I froze. I thought she knew best and was 
trying to keep me quiet by not letting me out. I had no intention of making 
a sound. 

"I can't sleep. I want a drink," was the child's cry. 

Jenni and I were face to face. I was watching the last traces of smoke 
leave her nose and mouth when she said, "Well, then go get one. You know 
where the kitchen is." 

"No, I'm scared." 

I was listening to this exchange and finally decided to exit Jenni. She 
reluctantly let go of my back and I slid out of her and stood up. I moved 
away from the door to allow her to get up and attend to her daughter. 

Jenni pulled herself to a sitting position and wrapped her lightweight robe 
back around her. "Come on in, Krissy." 

"WHAT?" I mouthed without actually speaking. "Are you out of your mind?" I 
slunk into the master bathroom just as the door swung open. I could hear 
the mother and child softly talking. She was trying to coax Kristen back to 
her bed when I noticed Jenni get out of bed and head toward my position in 
large bath area. Now what? I wondered. Jenni brushed right past me and 
quickly filled a plastic cup with water and walked back into the bedroom. 

"There you go. Drink it up and say goodnight." 

I could hear the child gulping from my position in the bathroom. 

"Okay let's go nigh', night," said Jenni. She left the bedroom with the 
child holding her hand. 

I stood alone and pulled my running shorts back on remaining hidden in the 
shadows of the bathroom. I felt awful after witnessing this little domestic 
scene. What was I doing? What was I thinking? This was the reason for the 
alarm bells in my head. This was a married woman with two small children. 
And a husband away on a business trip. This quick dose of reality made me 
overcome any previous indecision of wanting to continue with Jenni. I had 
tried to balance the load of my unbelievable good fortune against the fact 
that this woman was slightly ill, that she was married to a good man and 
had kids. The fact that she was smoking and I was at that moment making 
love to her overrode, for a brief spell, my own rational good judgement. I 
had to get out of here, now. 

After no more than two minutes, Jenni breezed back into the room. She 
walked over to the bedside, quickly lit yet another long VS120, slid her 
robe back down from her shoulders and playfully asked, "Okay, now where 
were we?" 

I made my appearance from the bathroom fully dressed in my shorts, running 
shirt and shoes. "You're kidding, right?" 

Jenni took a leisurly puff on her new VS and French inhaled for me. During 
her exhale, she gave me a passionate look like the cigarette itself might 
get her off. "What do you think?" She was trying to sound seductive but it 
came out sounding more sarcastic. 

"I think I need to get going." 

"Going? Why? 

What a question. "Why? Why doesn't this bother you?" I waved my arm around 
pointing at the bed and then the door. I truly needed to hear her answer. 
She seemed completely unfazed. 

"Does what bother me?" 

"Oh, come on, Jenni. Here we are, in bed, making love, making loud noises 
and your daughter just happens to walk in. You don't care if she sees 
you-sees you smoking, sees you with a strange man? Sees you naked?" 

Jenni thought about this for a moment then simply said, "No." 

"Then you've got a problem," I said, sounding very judgmental. 

"Not half as big as the problem you've got," she retorted. 

It had hit me earlier that Jenni seemed to know something about me, that 
she was anticipating our meeting tonight but I had dismissed it either as 
paranoia or being blinded by lust. Now her reply seemed to be a veiled 
threat - a reminder that she still held some cards that would determine how 
the rest of the evening played out. I waited out of caution before I spoke. 
"And what problem might that be?" 

"Well, first off, you owe me some money. I'd say about $1,000. That sound 
about right to you?" 

I was flabbergasted. "I never agreed to pay you for this," I said. "You 
wanted it. You set me up for this." 

Jenni walked to where I was standing. She took a long puff on her cigarette 
and audibly inhaled with a deep `whoosh'. Holding the smoke in her lungs, 
she gave a sinister smile. "No one set you up for anything, Mark," she said 
calmly. You came to Virginia from Alpharetta, Georgia and, judging from the 
amount of information we have on you, YOU set ME up. Now you're going to 
pay up." 

My face was on fire. I was shocked she knew where I'd come from. I was 
shocked she knew I had come for her. Still, I wanted to test just how much 
she did know-assuming she'd tell me. "What else do you know about me?" 

"Oh, no. First you agree to pay, then I'll let you in on what we know." 

Jenni was sure acting brave given the fact that she was alone in her house 
and it was midnight. Or WAS she alone? I thought about her use of the word, 
`we'. "I'm not paying anything," I said with fake confidence. "In fact I'm 
leaving, now." 

"No you're not," she said with an evil grin. 

"And why not." 

"Because Ron is downstairs in the living room to ensure you will pay." 

Ron. I knew that name. It was the name Jenni mentioned in her message to 
Tammy. This Ron was presumably the manager / owner of the video outfit ESS 
Video Source, I gathered at least that much. Whether he was down in Jenni's 
living room remained to be seen. I opened the door to the master bedroom 
and started down the stairs. The house was dark except for a light creeping 
around the corner from the kitchen area. I walked past the living room 
toward the front door when suddenly I spotted the silhouette of a man 
moving quickly to block my exit. A full set of lights came on in the foyer 
and this Ron, this Ron-from-the-video-with-Jenni, stood in my way grinning 
in a menacing way. 

"Leaving us so soon, Mark? Well, that's okay, I guess. No skin off my 
teeth. However, you still owe us $1,000. And I don't take checks." 

I stood looking down on Ron. Actually Ron reminded me of this Guido 
character in the movie `Risky Business' with Tom Cruise. You may remember, 
Guido `the killer pimp'? Anyway, this little worm presented no physical 
threat to me whatsoever. Still, he could have a gun concealed somewhere, I 
thought-just like Guido the killer pimp. "I'm leaving now," I said. "Get 
out of my way." 

Ron looked up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the living room. Jenni 
yelled back down, "It's okay. He's not going anywhere." Then she looked at 
me. "Go ahead, Mark. Mr. Mark Todd from Alpharetta, Georgia. That's right. 
We know your name and we know exactly where you live. What's a mere 
thousand dollars compared to what we can do to you later?" 

God, this was pure extortion. I'd never been in this situation before and I 
certainly didn't want to tangle with these psychotic outlaws. But there was 
an urgency pounding in my brain to get out of here-to get out of this 
house, this neighborhood, this state. I pushed Guido aside and opened the 
front door. What I saw on the street made me utter an expletive. 

"Shit." 

"That's right, shit," said Guido. "Now what are you going to do, big man?" 

At first I thought it was a true cop car sitting out front. Then I noticed 
it was merely the neighborhood security car with a rent-a-cop sitting 
inside. He saw me coming out of the front door and made a move to get out 
of his car. 



I ran. That's all I remember until I found my car parked just outside the 
wall of the lavish subdivision. I ran like a fox being chased by baying 
hounds. It was pitch black on some portions of the golf course but somehow 
I was able to keep making progress to the perimeter fence. I tripped once 
in a grassy hole and twisted my ankle but the powerful adrenaline pumping 
in my veins made me pop back up and resume my quick pace. I couldn't tell 
if anyone was behind me but I doubted it. The rent-a-cop was young but 
carried a bulging gut. I recognized that much before I made my break. I 
suspect he started running after me as a token gesture to the residents 
(Jenni) but soon gave up. Guido probably hopped in his car but soon 
realized he had no idea where to look for me as soon as he saw me enter the 
darkened golf course. It was easy to get away from this odd, threatening 
group but as soon as I concluded I'd won the battle, I knew I'd probably 
lost the war. They certainly did know where I lived and where I was staying 
locally. 

The thought that they could find me kept flashing in my brain the entire 
drive back to the AmeriSuites in Pikeville. Sure. It must've been a chinch. 
Jenni calls Tammy, Tammy checks out my story with good ol' Mr. Earl 
Shelnut. Hell, I told them both I was staying at the AmeriSuites. Tammy 
could've gotten my name and address from the mailing lists of sent videos. 
They had me. I decided I could not stay at the hotel any longer. With the 
adrenaline rush I was experiencing, sleep would be out of the question 
anyway. When the elevator opened on the third floor, I knew I had to check 
out immediately and start my drive back south. I could easily make the 
8-hour drive non-stop. With luck, I'd hit the Atlanta city limits around 
morning commute. 

It took me 10 minutes to pack all my clothes. The clock in the empty lobby 
said 1:10am. I stood at the front desk with my magnetic key looking around 
for the night clerk. Come on, come on, hurry up, I mumbled to myself as I 
pressed the call button. I could picture Guido (the killer pimp, with gun 
in hand) and Jenni driving at 90 miles an hour to catch me before I left 
the hotel. I felt like a chicken shit. I felt that if I had the balls to go 
through with the fantasy I had deliberately sought then I should certainly 
stand and pay the consequences. And paying meant nothing to do with the 
$1,000 they wanted, it simply meant standing up to them. By letting them 
chase me around showed I was weak-that I was probably good for the grand of 
extortion money and worth following to my permanent address. 

The longer the night clerk took to get to the desk, the quicker my macho 
desire to stand up to them dissipated. The need to get to my car and depart 
town was now THE most urgent thing in my mind. It was blotting out the 
stunning recent images from having had probably the best sexual experience 
of my entire life - bar none. I knew there'd be time to reflect on what 
actually happened in Jenni's bedroom and I knew there'd be memories to last 
a lifetime but right now I just needed to get the hell out of Dodge. 

Finally, the sleepy attendant strolled around the corner to help me. As she 
pulled up my bill on the computer she said, "I'll have to charge you for 
today too." 

"Fine, fine," I said. "No problem." 

"Of course, I could only charge you half-that is, if you haven't slept in 
your bed." 

"Fine, fine, whatever." 

"Well, did you use your bed or not?" 

"No. I haven't slept in it." I was talking fast, trying to convey my need 
to just get my receipt and leave. 

"Okay, I'll just have to run a quick check of your room then I can deduct 
half the room rate." She picked up the phone to call someone. 

I quickly reached across the desk and pushed the button down. "Are you 
kidding? All I want to do is check out, NOW! Forget the half room rate - 
charge me for both nights." 

She eyed me suspiciously as if I actually did use my bed and towels. Then 
she shrugged and said, "Whatever." 

When the laser printer spit out my receipt, I again reached across the 
desk, grabbed it from the tray before she could touch it and was gone. I 
threw my suitcase in the car and left the parking lot with my tires 
squealing. If Guido and Jenni ever showed up after my hasty departure, I 
never knew it. I certainly didn't pass either of their cars while speeding 
out of town. 



The nighttime air was cool and moist. I had my window down and the air 
conditioning on as I sped south on Interstate 85 near the outskirts of 
Charlotte. The excitement had finally started to wear off and I was able to 
think more clearly. I knew I should've been sleepy but I wasn't. I kept 
picturing Jenni and Guido in his pimpmobile waiting for me as I pulled into 
my driveway at home, which I knew would be a complete impossibility, 
nonetheless, it did serve to remind me of the mess I was in. The digital 
clock on the dash said 4:57. I began to reflect on the facts - just how 
much did Jenni and the others really know about me? Just how far would they 
go to keep harassing me? They knew my name and address-they had to. I 
accepted this fact yet it still left me unsettled. Did they know about my 
ex-wife, Renee and our daughter? I highly doubted it. Did they know where 
they lived? No. I had just quit my job so they couldn't come looking for me 
(or try to blackmail me) at work. They wouldn't have any of that 
information. My mind kept turning over how they got my real name. I was 
certain that I gave Tammy a bogus last name (Smith). I wasn't sure if I 
told old man Shelnut my real last name or not. I probably did but even so, 
how could he have remembered it long enough to answer Tammy's inquisition? 
And didn't he say he didn't like her-or was it her daddy? The only 
alternative would be if Tammy got the hotel I was staying from Earl and 
then a friend that worked at the hotel (a big presumption) looked up my 
name / address on my registration card (which I gladly provided as my 
actual - dummy!). Either way, I knew they had my correct name and address. 
Hell, Jenni shouted it out at me. But I was convinced this was all they 
had. 

As I passed through Charlotte I took time to reflect on just who these 
people were and how they were connected. What was their motivation? I 
needed to answer these questions as best I could so to rationally determine 
how safe I was. At one point, I was thinking I'd have to sell my house, 
change my name and move to another state. That's how IRRATIONAL I was. 
Driving through Charlotte, I knew I was past those worries-well, maybe but 
I still needed to plan. And to plan I needed to understand Jenni, Tammy, 
Ron as best I could. I began to ask myself, was Jenni actually married to 
Tom? Did Tom know about her video appearances? Did Jenni get paid well 
(well enough to afford the huge house they had)? I quickly concluded Jenni 
was a nymphomaniac, pure and simple. It appeared she wanted to fuck anyone 
that found her attractive or was drawn to her. It also appeared that she 
was heavily addicted to cigarette smoking and that her link between smoking 
and sex had been cemented long ago by some teenage experience. Maybe she 
came from a dysfunctional home and to get positive attention, she started 
to get sexually active early. Maybe she also started smoking early and she 
hit upon some boy that had the fetish. They found a remote place in the 
bushes on a warm evening and he popped her cherry while she lay beneath him 
smoking. That would create a link between smoking and sex for a woman, 
right? Shit, I had no way of knowing, I was just brainstorming. All I did 
know was that this woman could smoke and fuck like I never dreamed. She'd 
been doing it for a long time and she knew, she absolutely knew, it turned 
many men on. Her videos were just another form of voyeurism reaching an 
audience she must've correctly guessed numbered in the hundreds of 
thousands. Ron (video Ron - aka Guido) had to have been one of the first to 
exploit her natural ability to smoke and have sex in order to make money. 
He must've discovered her sometime after he started making his smoking 
female videos for profit. When he found that she'd smoke and fuck on 
screen, he must've known she was going to be a big earner for him. Then, 
somewhere along the way, it occurred to him to "sell" her to fetishers - 
literally, to act as her pimp. 

This stuff just sort of logically occurred to me. Not all of it was exactly 
true, I knew. But I also knew I was painting a pretty good picture - one 
that would help me understand how to deal with these people. I imagined 
that when I left Tammy earlier in the day, it struck her that I was not 
really lost but merely fishing around for information on the smoking 
models. Then, she knew a strong possibility existed that I would actually 
find Jenni when I overheard the message with her phone number. The model's 
identity and phone numbers are strictly confidential. Knowing I heard the 
message, Tammy must've called Jenni on her cell phone and warned her that 
one of her "fans" maybe intercepting her later that night. How surprised 
Jenni must've been to see this fan sitting at her dinner table when she 
comes home at the end of the day. But then she quickly recovers and 
realizes (a) there's money to be made and (b) she gets to smoke and fuck 
again (which she truly does enjoy). Somehow Guido got called in (either by 
Jenni or Tammy) to add "muscle" and a more menacing threat to extract the 
$1,000. Guido didn't worry me from a physical standpoint. The only unknown 
was his ego. If he felt he needed to look tough in front of Jenni and 
Tammy, then he would feel compelled to come collecting. If he didn't feel 
he needed to stroke his ego and he didn't need the money, my guess was, 
he'd disappear from under the rock he came. 

I was feeling fairly confident that I understood the mess I was in and that 
there wasn't too much of a threat that Guido would come calling. Despite 
the understanding, one piece still deeply troubled me. This piece was Tom. 
Remember? Thomas Standel - the Thomas Standel that introduced me to 
Jennifer as his wife? This part of the puzzle didn't fit with the rest. Tom 
was too nice and too smart a guy to be married to Jenni and not know what 
was going on. Was he in on it or not? Either answer didn't seem right. If 
he WAS in on it, then I just became the worst judge of character on the 
planet. If he wasn't, then he was a lot dumber than he looked. Either way, 
I felt sorry for him. Oh, and what about those two little girls? That added 
even more mystery. I reflected for a moment on hearing little Kristen knock 
on the door in the middle of our second session. Jenni and I both froze. I 
remember being torn by the two things - one was hearing the little girl cry 
out to her mother in need and the other was seeing her mother more 
interested in smoking and reaching orgasm than the cry from her own 
daughter. 

Seeing Jenni in my mind in this position made me get hard again. As much as 
I had fantasized over the years with my fetish and imagined all kinds of 
different smoking women, I never thought something like a Jenni to be even 
remotely possible. How many more were there like her? She certainly was 
quite a contrast to my ex-wife who was afraid of my fetish, excuse me - my 
sick fetish, even as mild as I made it seem to her. 

I lowered my driver's window and let the night air hit me again. I was 
tired but still very much charged by my recent experiences. I felt it a 
shame and highly ironic that to have the best sexual experience of my life, 
it came at the expense of having my life itself threatened by not only this 
Guido but by Jenni. The fact that she could turn on me like that after only 
moments before being so submissive. I looked up and could see the orange 
glow of dawn approaching in the east. I was about an hour out. 

Guido and Jenni never came to pay a visit on me. It took a year before I 
could finally relax and not be concerned with cars passing outside my 
window or people entering my house while I was gone. But still, a year's 
passing only provided an uneasy peace at best. Sometimes, as I lay awake at 
night, I contemplated changing my name and moving from my house but 
realized that would be a paranoid act. No, I had to hang tough. However, 
during that first year after my trip, I did not see or date any women. The 
contact with Jenni and my failed marriage to Renee attended to that. That 
didn't mean I stopped looking though. I still had some wonderful sightings 
of women smoking - in bars, outside office buildings and in cars. No one 
could take that away from me. But I never talked to any of them let alone 
dated them. And the more I thought about how potentially ruined I was, the 
more of a sicko I thought I was becoming. 

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