The Way It Never Was, Part 4

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 

4. Enter Trish 



I met Trish exactly one year and one week after returning from Virginia in 
an unlikely place - church. One night while laying awake thinking about 
Jenni (both the unbelievable sex and the possible pursuit of Guido) I 
started thinking I needed to renew a part of my soul and spirit and get 
back to church. Church was something Renee and I had started shortly after 
the birth of Ashley. We went on a fairly regular basis for about 5 years 
but then lost interest. We found ourselves only going at Christmas and 
Easter before quitting altogether. Then there was the divorce- Many at the 
church I'm sure would tell us the reason we suffered the divorce was simply 
because we stopped attending church. That's not so - and we both knew it. I 
kept reminding myself that I had this "sick fetish" and that's what killed 
us, right? 

Anyway, Trish and I met outside after the 11:00 service. During the crowded 
exodus to clear the usual logjam in the parking lot, she nearly ran me 
over. She must've spotted a momentary opening as she attempted to back out 
and did not notice me walking in her blind spot. She tapped the accelerator 
of her big Chevy Tahoe. Fortunately I saw what was happening and took a 
quick step backwards. Moving in reverse, she saw a blur (me) pass by her 
window only an inch or so from the moving vehicle. We noticed each other 
and I saw her eyes grow into huge circles as she squealed on the brakes. 

Down goes her power-window. "Oh my God, did I hit you? I didn't even see 
you! Oh, I'm so sorry." 

I smiled. This woman looked absolutely gorgeous and my first thought was, 
for the next few minutes, I own you. She'd be putty in my hands after 
nearly killing me, ha, ha. I simply said, "It's okay really. Fortunately, I 
saw you first. It's okay." 

She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. After exhaling through 
pursed lips, she let a smile form and said, "Oh, no. It's my fault. I 
didn't even look. I've been such a mess lately." Her smile turned to a more 
flustered look. 

This was interesting. Her "mess lately" comment sounded like a code phrase 
inviting more conversation and deeper inspection. And despite my initial 
feeling of "owning her", I couldn't bring myself to following up. I let her 
go with a, "No, it's okay, really. No big deal." 

Her smile returned. She gathered herself. She held out her hand through the 
window and said, "Thank you. My name's Trish. Trish Stew-err, Trish 
Hamilton. God, I'm such a mess." 

Now I knew I had to follow up with her mess comment. There was definitely 
an invitation in it. "Well, hello Trish Stew, err, Trish Hamilton," I 
repeated in mock fashion. "I'm Mark Todd. Pleased to meet you." 

Trish gave an embarrassed laugh and touched her hand to her forehead. "I 
know you Mark. We met about 5 years ago after our family joined the church. 
I was Pat Stewart then. She held up her empty ring finger. "I'm divorced as 
of 6 months ago - just got my name changed back to my maiden name last 
week. I'm still not used to it." 

I didn't know how to respond. I certainly didn't remember her. We must've 
met shortly before Renee and I stopped coming. "Well, I'm now divorced too. 
Been a little more than a year, I guess. I kept my name though. Ha, ha." 

We chatted some more standing in the parking lot and both agreed we'd be 
seeing each other around. Then Trish said she had to go - to go pick up her 
daughter who was with her father this weekend. 

When I got home, I found my casual interest in Trish had quickly evolved 
into full-blown fascination. I slid open one of the kitchen drawers, which 
still held our old copy of the church directory, complete with family 
pictures. I looked up Stewart and sure enough found a lovely wholesome 
picture of a family of three, husband Jim, wife Patricia and daughter Amber 
(then age 5). Trish looked stunning. She was probably in her late twenties 
when the shot was taken yet she looked barely 21. Today in the parking lot 
she looked older, but in a good way. If I had to guess, I'd say she was now 
about 32 or 33. Her hair was shorter than in the picture (about shoulder 
length) and a darker shade of blond. Her face had more character and maybe 
a few new squint lines. Nonetheless, she was still head-turning gorgeous. 
From her driver's seat, I noticed she had a well-shaped figure that was 
toned by a regular aerobics / weight program or something similar. Now, 
after studying her picture in our old church directory, I knew I couldn't 
let this opportunity slide. Hell, it'd been a year since I'd had any 
contact with a female and even longer since I'd had what you'd call a 
"normal relationship" with a female. What I did next didn't surprise me but 
I was hoping I'd lost the tendency after my near-brush with the Jenni / 
Guido trouble. I found myself looking up Trish's address in the church 
directory and confirming it on Yahoo. Then I found myself driving to her 
house. (Oh, God, I'm stalking someone again.) It was only a few miles from 
mine and I told myself I'd only make a pass and not stop - just wanting to 
get a little closer, check out the territory before I get up the nerve to 
ask her out, that's all. Sure- 

As I approached her neighborhood, I noticed it was very similar to mine. A 
small swim / tennis club at the entrance with nice rows of individual homes 
set back on neatly manicured lots - very middle to upper-middle class-the 
kind that are on every crossroad in Alpharetta. Neighbors were on the 
sidewalks or working in their yards. A few women strolled toward the tennis 
courts in their cute little outfits. Tennis was everywhere in Alpharetta. 
The Atlanta Lawn Tennis Association was a permanent fixture in every 
subdivision and woman flocked to it in droves. The ubiquitous tennis attire 
could be seen all over town, not just on the courts. Seeing these two women 
reminded me of an old joke I'd heard. "How can you tell you are at a 
funeral in Alpharetta?" "How?" "All the women are wearing black tennis 
skirts." 

Trish was not in a tennis skirt when I drove by her house but she was 
outside standing on her long front porch. I was scanning addresses on 
mailboxes and didn't even notice her until I was right in front of her 
house. "Shit," I exclaimed to myself. 

Trish casually looked at my car and waved - not like she knew me or 
anything - it mostly seemed like the kind of friendly wave or courtesy wave 
you'd give a faceless neighbor driving down the street. 

The pass by her house was quick even though I was going under the posted 
speed limit of 25. The weird thing was I thought I noticed something in 
Trish's non-waving hand - a white object, a cigarette perhaps? Naw. That 
was strictly wishful thinking. I was hallucinating; I had to be. Plus, the 
drive-by was so fast, I had, what, maybe 2 or 3 seconds to focus on Trish? 
No, no - she was not smoking, couldn't have been- 

Still, when I got back to my own house I was sweating. I was excited and I 
couldn't shake that vision - that 2 - 3 seconds where, for a moment, it 
looked like Trish held a long, white cigarette in her right hand. I 
couldn't stop wondering. Since I knew I was going to eventually ask her 
out, I decided to cut to the chase in case she did recognize me. I dialed 
her number; she had to be home. Didn't I just see her? (Didn't I just see 
her smoking?) She answered. 

"Trish?" I asked into the receiver. 

"Hi Mark." 

Oh God, she DID see me. Now I felt like a jerk. "Hi. How'd you know it was 
me?" Her response knocked me off-balance and added to my nerves. 

"Caller ID. A must for a single-woman." She gave a slight giggle. 

Okay, she wasn't upset by the drive-by, or she plain didn't recognize me. 
Still, my mind went temporarily blank. "Oh, yeah, right." I plunged on. 
"Uh, how are you doing?" What a cornball question to ask. There was a pause 
because I think she was expecting me to continue. 

After an awkward few seconds, she said, "I'm doing fine." Then she laughed. 
"Better than I was in the parking lot, that's for sure." 

Her easy laugh and willingness to recall her awkward moment earlier in the 
day gave me confidence to continue. I simply said it was good meeting her 
and if she wasn't doing anything next week, would she care to go out and 
catch a movie or go to dinner? She seemed surprised but didn't hesitate to 
say yes. She even made a suggestion that we meet this coming Friday at 
Cal's - a nice sports bar that featured decent food in a lively atmosphere. 
I knew the place and told her it was an excellent suggestion. She said they 
have live music on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights and she goes fairly 
regularly, that she would look forward to going with me. 

After hanging up I felt dizzy. I was happy but anxious. I hadn't been on a 
true date since being with Renee in college. I knew I had to go check out 
Cal's before Friday - it was the practical engineer in me to make sure 
there'd be no surprises. I wanted to look at the table arrangements, see 
the live music and get a feel for the atmosphere. And of course I wanted to 
see how they handled the smoking arrangements just in case my imagination 
wasn't playing tricks on me. 



I decided Thursday night would be the best time to check out Cal's - the 
day before our date. They would have the music but it wouldn't be as 
crowded as a Friday or Saturday. When I stepped out of my car, I could hear 
the distant thump of the bass and the slapping of drums across the parking 
lot. The song was some old Eagles tune that had been covered by every 
garage band from here to Thailand - "Heartache Tonight". I walked inside 
and surveyed the crowd from the lobby. For a weeknight, I was surprised by 
the large silhouetted group of heads and raucous mood spilling from the 
bar. And the smoke in the air was thick considering this was suburban, 
upscale Alpharetta. My first thought was why didn't I find this place 
sooner? There were such sightings to be had here! I spotted dozens of 
women, many of them smoking. Across the wall behind the band were six 
big-screen TVs all tuned to different sporting events or music videos. Of 
course there was no sound coming from them, the live band was blasting over 
everything. Still, people were trying to catch the Braves game live from 
Turner Field or the score from the latest round of NBA playoffs giving the 
appearance that their eyes were on the band. Right in the middle of a song, 
a loud unison male whoop would go up cheering something on the screen. The 
band wouldn't miss a beat and continued on like it was a cheer for them. 

I moved slowly towards the TVs and the bar keeping a roving eye on the 
women. What I saw next stopped me in my tracks. It was the backside of 
Trish sitting at a table in the bar. She was facing a woman that I could 
easily see. I had to do a double take when I realized both held long 
all-white cigarettes! I didn't recognize the woman with Trish. She also 
looked to be about 33 years old with straight brown hair. They were talking 
and leaning close to each other across the table so they could be heard 
over the band. They seemed oblivious to anyone else in the room. My stomach 
actually got weak when I saw the backside of Trish take a puff. I couldn't 
see any of it except the nice thin stream of smoke she pushed upward from 
behind her blond mane. Either it was a low tar brand or bad lighting, since 
the smoke wasn't that visible. Suddenly my thoughts shifted to Jenni - it 
hit me that I actually made love to her while she was smoking heavily. Now, 
imagining I could do it someday with Trish made me very excited. Then I was 
struck by a simple fact, and it made me frown right there on the floor at 
Cal's. I could NEVER tell Trish about my fetish, no matter HOW close we 
become. I mean, look where it got me with Renee. The good news was she 
seemed to be smoking already. But, to actually get her in bed (assuming our 
relationship ever proceeded that far) and have her smoke for me would take 
some level of discussion, wouldn't it? I was confused. At the moment, I 
didn't know how I'd handle it. My concentration broke as I watched Trish 
raise her cigarette again. This time I counted the number of seconds she 
drew on it. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, 
four-one-away came the cigarette and another nice stream was directed above 
her pretty friend's head. Wow, three and a half seconds-she must be a 
seasoned smoker to go that long, I marveled. I was just starting to watch 
Trish's friend take her first puff when a voice from behind interrupted me. 

"Mark? Mark Todd as I live and breathe? Hey, how's the retired life 
treating you?" 

I turned around to see an old acquaintance of mine from work, Tim Stanley. 
Tim had his hand out and I shook it. "Hey Tim. How you doin'?" 

"Just getting off work, old buddy. Must be nice to be out of the rat race, 
huh?" 

I could see he wanted to make a little conversation. He'd just been to the 
bar and had some kind of mixed drink in his hand. I wanted to concentrate 
on Trish and her friend but I had to turn away from them to face Tim. I 
looked at my watch. "You're just now getting off work? Tim, it's after 9 
o'clock." 

"Yeah, well, you know us code writers. The company'd like us to work 24/7 
if they could figure out a way to feed us intravenously at our computers." 

"Still-9 o'clock? I guess you single guys can manage it." Tim had lost his 
wife in a divorce several years before Renee and I split up. Tim's mistress 
was his work even though he'd leave cryptic comments about how big a slave 
driver the company was. 

"Yeah. I heard you're single again yourself. Sorry about you and uh, 
Robin." 

"Renee." 

"Yeah, Renee. When was it? A few months ago?" 

"More like 14 months ago." 

"That long huh? God, time flies when you spend 70 hours a week in your cube 
writing software. So, you playing the field? You engaged or anything yet? 

"Well, I'm dating, sort of." I didn't want to tell him that I was scheduled 
to have my first date in 17 years tomorrow night. 

Tim was in his usual chat mode and not wanting to disengage. I shifted my 
position on the floor to keep an eye on Trish and her friend. Of course, 
Tim noticed. "You watchin' those two fillies over there?" He gestured at 
Trish's table with his drink. 

"Yeah, I noticed them. Have you seen them before?" I was hoping he'd say 
no. 

"They're here a lot. The one facing us is Shawn, the other one, I forget." 

It figured that Trish was here a lot. When I first asked her out on the 
phone, Cal's rolled off her tongue very naturally. It was the first thought 
out of her head. 

Tim spoke again. "You want to go meet them or something? Come on, let's go 
up to their table. I'll introduce you." 

"No! I mean, not so fast." I didn't want Trish to know I was here - not 
tonight. "Are you seeing one of `em or something?" I asked. Again, I was 
hoping for a no. 

"I talk to Shawn from time to time, sometimes her friend. I'm not 
interested in them if that's what you're asking." Tim feigned a little 
disgust in his response. 

"What's not to be interested in?" I asked innocently. 

"Are you kidding? Look-smokers-both of them." 

"That isn't a huge turn-off, is it? I mean look around. Most of the women 
are smoking. My feeling is, if you come to a place like this, you can't 
discriminate. Besides, they might just do it socially." I was starting to 
believe this was the case. The gal Shawn, sitting opposite Trish, looked 
like a novice. 

Tim corroborated my idea. "When those two first started coming in here, 
Shawn didn't smoke. I think she picked it up from the blond there. She 
smokes like a chimney." 

A chimney? I thought. My God. Trish? Tim and I stood there and chatted a 
few more minutes until I said I had to be going. We shook hands again and I 
watched him move to the bar away from the two women. Good, I thought. Then 
I headed for the door. 

I was in an excited state when I got home. I kept thinking how I was going 
to handle Trish's smoking if / when it came up during our date tomorrow. 
After dwelling on it for more than an hour, I knew I had no recourse-I had 
to ignore it unless she wanted to discuss it. 



The music drifting into the parking lot revealed the same 70s/80s band was 
at Cal's again tonight. I rolled my eyes as I helped Trish out of the 
passenger seat and we walked toward the door. She looked splendid - a bit 
more dressed up perhaps than last night. Instead of a lightweight sweater 
and jeans she had on a red blouse and short cream-colored skirt. She was 
carrying a medium-sized purse and I kept wondering do they contain her 
cigarettes? I couldn't really see inside and I didn't want her to think I 
was spying so I quit trying to sneak a peek before we even left her house. 
I knew I'd find out soon enough. 

My first chance to see Trish in action came when the hostess greeted us at 
the door of Cal's. It was noisy and she had to raise her voice. 

"Good evening. Two?" 

"Yes," I replied. 

"Smoking or non?" 

I had anticipated this question from the time I had scoped out the place 
last night. I still hadn't rehearsed an answer though. I looked back at the 
hostess, "Uh-" then I turned to Trish who was staring right back at me. 
"Uh, it doesn't make a difference to me, I don't smoke. Do you?" 

Trish was giving me an inquiring look and had a thin smile pasted on. In 
retrospect, I believe she was trying to give me a coded message that said, 
yes, she'd like to sit in the smoking section and maybe smoke if the mood 
moved her but she wasn't going to admit that she was a smoker and demand 
that we sit in smoking - at least not on our first date. 

I was new to dating and reading this sort of unspoken language between 
newly acquainted men and women eluded me. "Uh-I don't care. What do you 
want to do?" I asked. I must've looked flustered and instantly aware I 
missed an obvious cue. 

Trish finally cut in, "Non smoking please." 

And that took care of that. 

We were walking to our table and I was kicking myself for not doing the 
right thing but how was I supposed to react? I wasn't a mind reader. After 
sitting down, Trish was silent. She'd been fairly talkative in the car but 
now I knew I blew it. I asked, "Are we sitting in the right section? Did I 
miss something back there?" 

Trish was studying her menu. Without looking up she said, "No, no. We're 
okay. I can sit here." 

"But you'd rather be over there?" I gestured toward the bar. 

She didn't look up from her menu. 

"Trish? Really. What do you want to do? We can still switch if you want. 
I'm not opposed to sitting in a smoking section." 

Finally she looked at me and as her lips formed a genuine smile. "I'm 
sorry. If the truth be known, I used to smoke but quit about six months ago 
because of my worthless ex-husband. It's a long story. When I come here, I 
sometimes enjoy a cigarette or two but I think I've shaken my addiction. I 
want to be considerate of you. I haven't been on a date in a long time and 
I tend to forget that not all men smoke." She touched her mouth with her 
hand and gave an embarrassed laugh as if to indicate all was still well 
between us. 

I let what she said sink in. I took time to weigh it. I wanted to respond 
with something proper-something a non-fetisher might say. "Trish, we're 
just on a date. I don't care if you smoke or not. And I certainly don't 
mind sitting in smoking." This was all I was going to say. Too much more on 
this topic and I know I'd start to reveal my overt interest in seeing her 
smoke. 

Trish gave me a sly grin when I finished talking. She set her menu down on 
the table and strode towards the hostess. I quickly rose to follow her. She 
was several steps ahead of me and I observed a quick exchange at the podium 
as the hostess quickly jumped out in front of Trish. In seconds we were led 
to a booth located in the bar area near the band and the big-screen TVs. 
There was a low-hanging light above the table and a freshly cleaned ashtray 
with a Cal's matchbook resting in its center. The booth had high-backed 
walls and was semi-private. It was nice. 

Trish sat down and was still smiling. I sat across from her and she said, 
"Thank you. I come here a lot, well, from time to time, and it just 
wouldn't seem the same without a cigarette." She was reaching in her purse 
and pulled out a sleek leather cigarette carrier that had a tiny clasp at 
the top and a gold Calibri lighter tucked in a pouch on the side. It looked 
very classy. As she slid her pack of cigarettes out, she said, "I have to 
conceal them. I don't like to remind Amber that I still smoke-uh, from time 
to time," she hastily added. 

I smiled back and shrugged to show indifference. I was surprised by her 
brand - the full-flavor Benson and Hedges Menthols. Certainly not something 
you smoke `recreationally'. 

Trish pulled one of the long cigarettes from the dark green box and held it 
between her fingers. I was really eager to see her light up. She looked so 
good as she held it near her beautiful face and shiny blond hair. She 
readied the slim Calibri lighter but then placed it back on the table and 
spoke, "You know, I have my worthless ex-husband to thank for this 
disgusting habit." 

"Trish, I don't mind if you smoke here. You don't have to keep making 
excuses for your habit." As I spoke I watched her touch the tiny flame to 
the tip of her B&H and draw the entire time she fiddled with stowing the 
lighter back in the pouch of her leather case. 

Trish inhaled deeply and said, "It's not a habit-and I'm NOT addicted." She 
smiled before she directed the smoke mixing with her speech into a nice 
even stream. 

"Those are you're words, not mine." I smiled back. 

After another long puff she inhaled and said, "Touché. Okay, maybe I'm just 
a little addicted. But I don't smoke that much. I still need to stay in 
shape for tennis." 

Now that Trish was openly smoking in front of me, I figured I could change 
the subject and still enjoy watching her. I picked up on her tennis 
comment. "Oh, so you're in an ALTA league? Does the team play in your 
neighborhood?" 

Trish brightened by my question and I was glad I chose the topic. "Yes! I'm 
the Number-2 ranked woman on our team and I have a mixed-doubles partner 
that played pro after college for a bit." 

"You guys sound formidable." 

She laughed after another puff from her B&H. "We are. I love to play. I 
love the competition too." 

"How'd you get into the sport?" 

Trish frowned and shook her head. 

"I'm sorry. Did I ask a bad question?" 

"Oh, no. Not at all. I guess the simple answer is that my ex-husband got me 
into it - at least the ALTA leagues." 

I smiled. "You mean your `worthless' ex-husband?" I winked to let her know 
I was joking and only using her previous words from twice earlier. 

Trish took the cue and laughed to show she was truly over him. "Yeah. He 
gave me two things that are still leftover. These," she held up her 
cigarette, "and tennis." 

"Tell me about the tennis," I said. 

"I will. But first I'll tell you about these. There's really not a lot to 
tell though." 

I was overjoyed. I was hoping by bringing up her `worthless ex-husband' 
comment that she'd connect the two and tell me the `long story' she hinted 
at earlier. "Fire away," I said. 

Trish giggled then spoke, "When we met and started dating, Jim smoked. Not 
a lot but he was regular about it. I was really taken by him and told him I 
didn't mind if he smoked. After we got married, he continued to smoke but 
by then, I started resenting him for it. I would tell him, `You can't 
continue to smoke. You may be young now but it'll catch up with you. I 
don't want you smoking if we are going to have kids.' I continued to nag 
him but he continued to smoke. Occasionally he'd ask me to just try it. 
`Come on,' he'd say, `if you just tried it, maybe you wouldn't hassle me so 
much.' I knew I wouldn't try it. But he was persistent. As time went on, 
he'd ask me almost once a week if I'd try a cigarette with him. We'd go out 
and he'd get me mildly drunk and nearly beg me to try a cigarette with him. 
After all the badgering, I figured he just wanted some approval or someone 
to smoke with so one night when we were out with another couple that was 
both smoking I decided I'd try one. After breathing their smoke all night, 
I figured what the heck. It actually tasted pretty good. Of course, I was 
mildly drunk too. From that point on, Jim and I would have our little 
dinners out and I'd smoke maybe one or two cigarettes. He taught me all the 
finer points. I learned to inhale that first night but he taught me how to 
do all the other little things right. It was actually fun learning from 
him. He bought me my own lighter and everything. We'd sometimes trade our 
smoke in a romantic kiss and breathe it back and forth until I'd get all 
woozy. Then, well-then it got weird." Trish's words trailed off. 

I knew the direction she was going but I appeared curious anyway. Plus, I 
was dying to hear her continue. I was getting turned-on by her narrative 
and couldn't believe how fortunate I was hearing a story like this so soon. 
"Weird? Like weird how?" 

"Oh, I don't know-it's hard to talk about. Let's change the subject. Let's 
talk about tennis. Jim got me involved with that too, which I'll never 
regret." 

"Okay, tell me about tennis." I was bummed that she ended her story but 
reminded myself before the evening began that I would not bring up the 
topic of smoking. Trish would have to do it. Now that she was ready to end 
it, I'd have to let her. The upside was that she'd just lit another one of 
her long B&H full-flavors and was now sipping a martini that had just 
arrived. 

Trish went on and on about how she started playing tennis in college on an 
intramural team after Jim got her interested in the sport. She later moved 
up to play at the intercollegiate level for her school and was regionally 
ranked her senior year. Of course, this was many years ago, she'd say. Of 
course, she was a natural, they said and they wanted her to turn pro but 
she wanted to get married and start a family. Trish said no to playing at 
the professional level but she and Jim still played after they got married. 
When they moved to Alpharetta, they each joined an ALTA team and played 
year-round. 

I took the liberty of ordering Trish and I another martini during the 
middle of her story and I also watched her chain into her third B&H 
cigarette. She was getting looser in the tongue and I wanted to get back to 
the `weird' comment she referred to earlier between she and her ex. But if 
I wasn't going to violate my own rule, I had to do it carefully. 

"You actually had the opportunity to turn pro after college?" I asked. 

"Yeah. I don't regret not doing it though. I'd have gotten killed on the 
pro circuit. My head wasn't in it and most of those gals had been playing 
since they were 5 years old. 

I imagined her playing in the Virginia Slims tournament, which is now 
defunct. "You and Jim sounded like a happy couple - at least in those early 
years. What went wrong? If you don't mind my asking." 

Trish let out a short laugh after taking a puff from her cigarette. "Like I 
said, it got weird." 

Oh good, I thought, we're back on weird. As happy as I was, I thought it 
best to act a bit remorseful. "Oh, I'm sorry." 

Trish waved off the apology. "No, no. It was good at first then it got 
weird. As I said, Jim got me hooked on these." She inspected her cigarette 
and said, "In fact, these are his old brand - Benson and Hedges. We'd smoke 
together when we'd go out. Jim was probably hooked but I knew I wasn't. I 
was only smoking maybe 4 or 5 cigarettes a week with him. Still I looked 
forward to our time out. Initially I thought it was the intimate time I was 
spending with him that made me look forward to it. I really enjoyed the 
smoky kisses. But I also enjoyed inhaling the wonderful smoke. Turns out I 
was getting used to the buzz the nicotine was providing. I smoked my first 
cigarette alone about six months after first trying it with Jim. I felt so 
bad, like I was doing something wrong. I felt sneaky. I went out on our 
porch and lit up wondering to myself, why am I having a cigarette in the 
middle of the day without anyone around? Still, I started enjoying my 
mid-day breaks. Pretty soon I was smoking two cigarettes back to back and 
craving more. I became a closet smoker giving in to all the cravings when 
no one was around. By the time Jim discovered me, I had been smoking about 
a month on my own and was up to almost a pack a day." 

"Jim discovered you?" I asked. 

"Yeah." 

Then Trish got quiet. Music from the band filled in a several minute gap. 

I thought Trish would continue but saw her story needed jump-starting. 
"What, did he get angry? Is that when it got `weird'?" 

Trish didn't answer. She finished her cigarette in two quick puffs then 
immediately followed by lighting her fourth of the evening. During the 
first exhale, her eyes focused on the smoke coming from her mouth. 

I was going to just shut up and force her to say the next word. I was 
content to sit and watch her smoke, although the silence was becoming 
awkward. Trish absentmindedly played with her hair by spinning it around 
her finger and she played with her smoke as it exited her nose and mouth. 
Finally, she decided to go on. "Oh, I don't know-it didn't really get 
weird-at least not when he first discovered me. He seemed overjoyed 
actually. That puzzled me. I thought, at best he'd be indifferent to my 
taking up smoking. He'd tease me though. He'd say, `You're addicted, girl - 
now what are you going to do?' or, `You're a smoker, are you finally going 
to admit it?' I fought the notion. The more I told him I wasn't addicted, 
the more he'd hassle me about it. Our smoky kisses ended and so did our 
nights out. We continued to smoke but not around each other. I thought to 
myself, great Trish, I start smoking for him and now that I'm addicted and 
CAN'T quit, he's starting to cool the relationship." 

"That's terrible," I said. "You mean your marriage failed because he didn't 
want you smoking unless it was under HIS terms?" After I posed the 
question, I couldn't even fathom the concept. I mean the irony was simply 
ridiculous when I compared it to my own failed marriage. 

"No, not really. Our marriage didn't fail right away. In fact it improved 
for a brief period. I guess this is the weird part." Trish lowered her 
voice. "I've spoken to my girlfriends about it and they agree it was weird 
but I've never spoken to a guy about it." She paused briefly. "Can I tell 
you a secret?" 

Trish was getting serious. Far more serious than I would've ever guessed 
for a first date. Still, I could see she wanted to tell me something (even 
though I'm sure the martini was doing most of the coaxing) so, who was I to 
discourage her? ha, ha. "Tell me anything you'd like." I gazed into her 
eyes and watched her take another long puff for courage. 

"One night I was laying in bed quietly watching Leno and smoking my last 
cigarette of the day. Jim didn't smoke much after dinner but I found unless 
I had one last cigarette before lights out, I'd be up in the middle of the 
night. Anyway, we hadn't talked much during the day but I could tell he was 
in an amorous mood. I figured since I was smoking, he'd leave me alone - at 
least until I was finished. In those days, I was smoking those long 
Virginia Slims 120s and I'd just started on it." 

I visibly shuddered when Trish got to this part in the story and she 
noticed it. 

She laughed. "What? Are you okay?" 

"Yes, yes, continue, please. Go on-" 

Trish eyed me suspiciously. "You know what comes next, don't you?" 

I was smiling at her to ease any sudden lack of trust. "No. Really. I'm 
sorry. It's just, well, it's just something I didn't think we'd get into on 
our first date." Idiot! Why'd you say that? Alarm bells were going off in 
my head to take it back but it was too late - it was already out there. 

"You're right. We shouldn't be getting into this. You're a guy. You may 
know where the story's going but you wouldn't understand it." She stubbed 
out her cigarette and didn't follow with another. 

I was desperate. Desperate to have her continue and desperate to salvage 
the evening. I was dying to hear the rest of the story. Why did I have to 
respond the way I did? "Trish, I'm sorry. I'm flattered that you want to 
get this personal with me on our first date. Actually, I treasure it. And I 
do think I can lend some perspective here, that is, if you are still 
willing to talk about it." What I thought had started out as light and easy 
chitchat had turned into a serious soul-bearing discussion. I was still 
trying to discover if Trish had intended this or not. I reached out on the 
table and covered her hand with mine. "Really. Please go on," I softly 
intoned. I was surprised by how cool her hand was. 

Trish looked at me as if she wanted to see inside, see if it was worth the 
effort to get a man's perspective on what she considered a woman's issue. 
After staring long and hard, her countenance changed. She didn't smile but 
there was a brightening, a recognition perhaps that she could trust me - 
maybe. "Oh, I don't know- I don't know how to finish this, I guess." She 
thought for a moment then asked, "Did you ever smoke? Did your wife smoke?" 

This was a truth moment if there ever was one. I couldn't fabricate my 
answer. And the good part was, I really didn't want to. "No. Neither of us 
did. Is that a prerequisite before continuing?" I smiled to try to convey 
the last part was meant as humor. 

"No. I'll finish but you may not understand-" Trish looked sad again. 

"Try me." 

"All right." She leaned close and whispered. "We did it while I smoked. 
There, I told you. Surprised?" 

I tried to act surprised knew this was where she was headed all along. 
Trish was correct earlier when she surmised that I knew what came next. 

She continued, "I was laying under the covers with nothing on but my usual 
night shirt and enjoying my newly lit 120 thinking he's probably pissed I'm 
smoking in bed again. But then he comes up to me and says, `Let's make 
love.' Just like that, `Let's make love.' He knew I hated to be asked. My 
standing rule, as with most girls, is, you never ask, you just do and then 
see how we respond. I hate talking about it first. I want soft touches and 
some romance first. I never warm to, `Hey, baby, let's fuck,' pardon my 
French. And the really puzzling part is, I'm smoking. I never thought man 
nor woman would be interested in foreplay while their partner was smoking. 
But before I knew it, he's under the covers with me, and he's huge. There's 
no stopping him. He slides into me and it feels like he's ripping me apart 
since I'm still so dry." Trish stopped for a moment and looked up at me. 
"You know, the only reason you're hearing this right now Mister is that 
you've got two double martinis in me." She resumed, "So I try to at least 
put out my cigarette but he practically yells, `No, no, keep smoking.' I 
look at him in mild shock so he lowers his voice and pleads, `Please, keep 
going, keep smoking, please.' I didn't know what to do so out of anger I 
took a long puff, inhaled and blew it back in his face. As soon as I did 
it, I knew that was a mistake. He enjoyed it. The whole session seemed 
surreal. I'm watching smoke exit my body, I'm feeling the effects of 
nicotine and I'm also watching my husband on top of me making love to me. 
I'd be a liar if I told you now that I didn't enjoy it. But then I was too 
much in shock to show Jim I was enjoying it." 

There was another pause. We sat quietly for a moment before I responded. "I 
think that when a couple-" 

Trish cut me off. She wasn't ready for an opinion yet. "Here's the first 
weird part." She started to whisper again. "I had a very quick, jolting 
orgasm in only a few minutes and I had to reverse fake it. I mean I didn't 
want Jim to know I came so I let him go on pretending I hadn't. Don't ask 
me why. I was confused, I guess. The second weird part was, after that 
night, I couldn't stop thinking about our smoky lovemaking. The thought 
would pop into my head at the oddest times and distract me terribly. So, 
what do you think I did?" 

I opened my mouth to venture a guess but was cut off again. 

"Right. I got into bed the next night, turned on Leno again and lit another 
one of my Virginia Slims 120s. Jim came into the room, got into his side of 
the bed, switched off the light and asked sarcastically if I was going to 
watch TV and smoke all night. Can you believe that? I couldn't. I was hurt 
and then I got mad. I told myself that's the last time I do that. In fact, 
I contemplated quitting smoking altogether. Turns out Jim was getting sick. 
Not seriously sick but flu-sick. After he got better, we resumed our little 
sessions in bed. As I said, the sex actually improved our marriage for a 
few months but then things came apart. I got used to making love to Jim and 
smoking in a lot of different positions. For several months, every time we 
made love I smoked. I got hooked on the combination about the time Jim got 
bored with it. Yeah, that's right, he got tired of it, probably of me too. 
Our marriage ended six months later. The thing was, I really-I really-oh, 
shit...I've probably said too much." 

I looked at Trish. She was visibly shaking and starting to cry. I reached 
across to comfort her and thought to myself, unbelievable, what a story! 
How confusing it must have been for her. Hell, I was confused. How could 
anyone in this Jim's position just decide to leave her? I didn't 
understand. 

"It's okay. It's okay," I kept saying as Trish cried and sipped her drink. 
What a roller coaster evening this turned out to be. I felt like her 
confession had instantly changed what little relationship we had going. I 
no longer felt like I was courting her. Now, since she spilled her guts to 
me, I felt she would try to morph me into being `just-friends' rather than 
a future lover. I was elated and pissed at the same time. 

After Trish got a hold of herself, she suggested we dance. I obediently 
followed her out to the small floor. We didn't say much the rest of the 
evening. I could tell she was sorry she ever told me her story. Even in her 
semi-inebriated state, she knew she killed any normalcy between us and any 
potential fun she knew we could've had. As we were moving to a slow dance, 
she started crying again and whispered in my ear, "Will you please take me 
home?" 

I obliged. 



I knew that I was going to see Trish again. There was really no question or 
doubt in my mind. But I kept my distance for about a week afterward with 
the exception of leaving her a voice message when I knew she was away. It 
was basically a roundabout plea to not let what happened last Friday 
interfere with our continuing to `see' each other. During my long-winded 
explanation into her machine, I thought, hell, you'd think we did the dirty 
deed Friday night and now I was trying to rationalize / apologize or beg 
forgiveness or something. It was when I caught myself in this weirdness 
that it dawned on me that we were never going to make it. I could continue 
to be her friend but stood a snowball's chance in hell of bringing the 
relationship into the more traditional dominion. She was still hung-up on 
her ex-husband for crying out loud. No, no, don't think that way, I told 
myself. You've got to see this woman again. You've got to touch her and 
hold her again. She is a smoking goddess. I mean did you see the way she 
inhaled and the length of her puffs? Oh man, she is SO addicted. She looked 
so sexy last Friday. No, no, I will NOT let her relegate me to being `just 
friends'. I will see her again. During my internal monologue, I was also 
struck with the notion that my liking her and desiring her transcended the 
smoking goddess platform I'd put her on. She was a very attractive woman 
and she had a sweet, inviting personality. The fact that she smoked was a 
bonus. That was the way I wanted my priorities arranged I told myself, if 
we ever got the relationship off the ground. 

I waited for two weeks for Trish to return my call. She never did. Part of 
me was relieved since I couldn't imagine what I'd say to her if put on the 
spot but part of me was lovesick and simply ruined that she hadn't called. 
Finally after nights of laying in bed not being able to get the thought of 
her from my head, I devised a scheme to `accidentally' bump into her while 
she was out shopping at the mall or the grocery store. My logic was a 
chance meeting might catch her when I could be charming without being under 
any obligation (like being on a date or over at her place for dinner). Deep 
inside though, I knew the main reason was I would be less vulnerable to 
being hurt if she brushed me off. A chance meeting in a store would be 
better than a planned meeting to discuss the relationship where both 
parties would have to put their cards on the table, so to speak. 

After discretely talking to a few people, I soon learned that Trish and I 
frequented the same neighborhood Kroger and the only reason we hadn't 
bumped into each other sooner was her odd habit of shopping for groceries 
after 9:00 in the evening. I took note that she did her big shopping on 
Wednesday's after church choir rehearsals. It wasn't too tough to spot her 
SUV pull into the near empty parking lot at exactly 9:20 PM. From a 
distance, I watched her walk into the store before I began my loose tail. 

An hour had passed and it wasn't until she was about to go through the 
checkout stand that I got the nerve to approach her. I was so nervous. 

"Trish?" I called out tenuously to her backside. 

She turned around and smiled but her eyes registered alarm. "Oh. Mark! Hi. 
You surprised me." 

I knew I would. That was the intention. Trish looked wonderful. She was 
wearing a short white tennis skirt and a loose fitting low-neck jersey. She 
had on a colorful yellow cap with her ponytail poking out the back and a 
sweater tied around her waist. You could see an array of freckles and 
reddish tan extending down her neck towards her cleavage. She looked so 
healthy she glowed. At that moment, I couldn't believe a woman like this 
was still single-and smoked. 

"You always come shopping at ten at night?" I gestured to her full shopping 
cart. It was now almost 10:30. 

"Yup. This is the way to do it. No lines, no crowds." 

I detected a cockiness in her voice that I hadn't heard in our previous 
meetings. It intimidated me. "Well, I just ran out of a few things." I gave 
her a sheepish grin as I moved my cart behind her in line. "So, how have 
you been doing? I didn't hear back from you after my phone message." (It 
had been nearly three weeks). 

"Yeah. I know. I've been just so busy." 

I thought to myself, busy. Yeah, I'd heard that line before. And she didn't 
even say she was sorry - just, well, just busy. "It's been two weeks and 
four days," I responded. It was a calculated risk to show her indirectly 
that I cared for her and our budding relationship. 

Trish laughed without looking up and continued to load her food items onto 
the conveyor belt. "Been counting, have we?" 

She was toying with me and I didn't understand why. My show of feelings 
didn't faze her in the least. She was so sweet and vulnerable on our Friday 
night date and now she seemed eager to dissuade any further conversation 
with me. And for what? I kept asking myself. What did I do? I decided to 
quit trying to keep things light. "Well, it's usually common courtesy to 
return a call-that is unless you're mad. And I didn't think you were mad at 
me-were you?" 

Trish let out a sigh, stopped unloading her basket and looked up. Her 
facial features were contorted giving a look of annoyance. "I wasn't mad. 
Am I required to return phone calls only to prove I'm not mad?" She was 
holding a package of bacon in one hand and gesturing with her other. It was 
a look of please, just leave me alone. 

For a moment, I was tempted to walk out, just leave my cart and go. Then I 
realized that would be far too dramatic. It was like we were married and 
having a spat at the checkout over some food item in the basket. If I 
walked out, she'd have higher ground later on. But we weren't married - we 
barely knew each other. If I hadn't been so dense or blindly infatuated 
with her, I would've understood she was simply trying to get rid of me, 
trying to tell me, we dated, we had fun but I don't want to see you 
anymore, get it? Rather than respond to her question, I got one of those 
conveyor belt divider things and started unloading my own basket's few 
items. 

Trish saw this and went back to minding her own business. My face was going 
numb from the stress. I could feel my cheeks tingling and my stomach 
knotting. I kept asking myself, what am I doing wrong? What do I do now? 
But no answers would come. Everything was a blank. I just wanted to get out 
of the store and out of Trish's life. It was a big mistake to try to meet 
Trish in this guileful method. Why do I have to fuck things up by always 
over-planning them, by trying to force something that's not there in the 
first place? I knew the answer. It was the story of my life-from Renee to 
Jenni to Trish. When I forced things, I got what I deserved. 

I was getting ready to pay for the items I'd loaded (and didn't need) as I 
watched Trish push her bagged cart towards the customer service counter. 
There was no one immediately behind the desk given the late hour so she had 
to wait. The counter was situated between the doors exiting the store and 
my location at the checkout counter so I would have to pass right by her on 
my way to the car. I felt like brushing close to her and saying something 
like, "Have a nice life", then sauntering out the door. No, no, too trite I 
told myself at the last second. 

Trish's back was to me as I got ready to pass by. She was getting ready to 
talk to the girl behind the service counter that had just arrived but then 
spun slowly to face me. I didn't expect it. I must've had this hangdog look 
on my face and she smiled. 

Trish opened her mouth but held her words for a second, like she wasn't 
sure. Then she spoke, "Mark, I don't know if what I'm doing is right but 
it's what I'm feeling right now. You can understand that, can't you?" 

"Uh, yeah. I guess." At least now she was being polite about brushing me 
off. 

"Good. I'm not trying to hurt anyone-I'm just not sure about, uh, things 
right now." 

"Gotcha." I was trying to sound cool but inside I was shaking. I noticed 
the girl behind the counter getting impatient so I gestured at Trish. 

"Oh," uttered Trish. She turned to the girl and apologized. 

I didn't feel like we were through so I lingered. 

Trish lowered her voice to the counter girl and pointed to the wall behind 
her where all the cigarettes were kept. "A carton of Virginia Slims Ultra 
Lights, Menthol please." Then she turned back to me and said, "I'm quitting 
smoking in two weeks you know." 

I simply shrugged my shoulders and said, "Oh, that's nice." I mean, what 
was I supposed to say? 

"Yeah. I've smoked these before. They're like smoking air. After they're 
gone, I quit." 

"Should I be saying, `good for you' or something?" I felt a little sarcasm 
couldn't hurt. 

"I don't care what you say. I just thought you'd be interested since I knew 
it clearly bothered you the other night." 

I was dumbfounded. This was outrageous. "What? What are you talking about? 
I wasn't bothered. Is that why you didn't call me back?" 

Trish was handing her money to the girl clerk and looking away. "There were 
a lot of reasons I didn't return your call. Like I said, I was busy." She 
tossed the carton of Virginia Slims Ultra Lights in her basket and moved 
ahead of me for the door. 

I quickly caught up. Her pace was rapid. "Trish, let me make one thing 
clear. I was not annoyed, pissed or put off by your smoking. In fact, 
wasn't I the one that moved us to the smoking section?" My mind was 
reeling. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. I mean, what a 
revelation! Imagine me being put off by Trish's smoking. 

Trish stopped the cart at her Chevy Tahoe. I started helping her load the 
bags after she lowered the gate. "Mark, come on. You don't get it, do you? 
I thought you were different, that's all." 

"Different?" 

Trish loaded the last bag and closed the gate up. "Yeah, different. Don't 
take this wrong but I took and chance on you then put my foot in my mouth 
big time. I guess I'm a little embarrassed by it, that's all." 

"Embarrassed?" 

Trish held up her hand. "Enough. Look, if you feel like it, give me a call 
in two weeks. No promises but I'll be off cigarettes by then and-who 
knows-try me then." 

"Off cigarettes? Trish, what does that-" 

She cut me off. "Stop it. No promises." She jumped in the driver's seat, 
started the engine and said, "I need time." Then she was gone. 

I was left standing in her exhaust fumes wondering what the hell had just 
happened. 



Waiting for the next two weeks to pass was one of the toughest things I had 
had to do since my divorce. I suffered the whole gambit of emotions. I knew 
I wanted to see Trish again, that I would certainly call her at the 
designated time but I couldn't quite grasp what was bothering her. She said 
she thought I was bothered by her smoking so she brushes me off but then 
decides to quit smoking anyway? The two actions together did not make 
logical sense - either she shows me she cares for me AND THEN decides to 
quit smoking OR she brushes me off and says, `to hell with him' then keeps 
on smoking. And I was really racking my brain to figure out how she thought 
I disapproved of her smoking in the first place. All I remember thinking 
before our date was how I didn't want to let her know how attracted I was 
to woman that smoked - that I had this `sick fetish'. Maybe I did it too 
convincingly - who knows? As I said, I went through the gambit of emotions 
and after two weeks, I was a complete wreak from it all. When the time came 
to actually call Trish, I was too drained and unsure of myself to go 
through with it. 

I waited two weeks and three days before making the call. I was so proud of 
myself, ha, ha. As each day passed, taking me beyond the two-week period, I 
started to feel better, more confident. Day three was the charm. It was 
just after 6:00 on a warm July evening when I dialed Trish's number. 

As the phone rang in my ear, I cursed caller ID. I wanted to have at least 
some small advantage. I know I could've blocked my number, but then I 
guessed she wouldn't pick up. Analyze, analyze, I told myself. Just shut up 
and think about what you are going to say. 

A very business-like Trish picked up the phone. "Hello?" 

She knows it's me, she sees my number. "Trish-?" 

"Yes?" Another cool business response. 

"How're you doin'?" (God, she KNOWS it's me. What's with this `Yes?' crap?) 

"I'm fine. Who is this, please?" 

"It's me, Mark-you know Mark from Cal's-Mark from the Kroger-Mark from the 
church parking lot? Mark." (Why is she playing these games?) 

"Oh. Mark. I'm sorry. I didn't recognize your voice." She was sounding a 
bit brighter. It almost sounded like I caught her by surprise. 

"I thought you had caller ID." 

"Not up here at the lake." 

"The lake? Where are you? Didn't I dial your home number?" 

She started laughing. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure you did. I have it forwarded to 
ring up here. We, I mean I - now, have a place up on Lake Lanier. It's a 
small but nice retreat. I've been up here more than a week now while Amber 
spends part of the summer with my jerk ex-, with, uh, her father, with Jim, 
that is." 

Lanier was a large lake about 15 - 20 miles north of Alpharetta. Many 
people in the city had property around it and alternated their time between 
two residences while others chose to live year round on it's wooded shores, 
making the long commute each day to Atlanta. I thought she and Jim must've 
had some big money if they had two places and she ended up with both of 
them. Either that or poor Jim had one pitiful divorce lawyer. 

"Really?" I asked, trying to sound impressed. "You've been up there a week 
now?" 

"Yes. It's been just marvelous - I've really needed this time away while 
Amber's gone. I just got out of the water from a quick swim. It's turning 
into a beautiful evening." 

"You sound great, Trish. Are you by yourself?" (I just HAD to ask.) 

"Yup. And no TV either." 

We both shared a quick laugh understanding TV had no place at the lake. 
When we settled down I forced myself back to the business at hand (and my 
somewhat practiced opening line). "Well, I guess you know why I called. 
I've been thinking about you and, uh, well, I'd like to see you again - if 
that's at all possible." God, I was nervous. 

"My, that was quick." 

(What did she mean by `quick'?) "Well, you said two weeks. It's been about 
that long, hasn't it?" 

"I think so." She was pretending to be coy. She was clipping her sentences 
in a flirty manner. 

"Well-?" I needed to slow down - to quit focusing on my needs. It was 
obvious she was in a good mood. She just wanted to banter a bit, maybe some 
playful chitchat. 

"Well. Well what?" she asked. 

"Well, how have YOU been doing these past two weeks?" I think this was the 
way she wanted me to go-but how the hell did I know? I hadn't really played 
this game in almost 20 years. 

"I'm doing fine. As I said, coming up here has been marvelous. I'm doing a 
lot of thinking. And catching up on some needed rest." 

I wanted to ask, have you quit smoking, but settled on, "Have you been 
doing anything else?" 

I swear, Trish must've been telepathic at that moment because her response 
was, "Yes. I've been a bad girl. If you must know, I haven't been able to 
quit smoking like I promised. In fact, I've given up trying - at least for 
now." 

Wonderful news, I thought as I tried to contain myself. "Well, under normal 
circumstances, I'd say I'm sorry but I don't want you to get the wrong 
idea, if you know what I mean. Let me just say I want what you want. If you 
want to put off quitting till later, that's fine by me. Honestly, Trish, it 
doesn't matter. I'd just like to see you again sometime." 

There was a pause before she answered. Then she spoke, "Okay. I'm having a 
tougher time quitting than I'd imagined. This is my first try and it's pure 
shit, pardon my French." 

I was getting turned on just hearing Trish admit this. I was also gaining 
confidence that I'd see her again. "So, how `bout this Friday? You want to 
retry Cal's? Maybe get a new start, so to speak?" 

Trish giggled. "Will you sit in the smoking section with me?" 

"I'd love to, absolutely." I wanted to make it very clear I had no problem 
with this, now or ever. 

"And if I exhale just a tiny bit of my smoke at you, you won't mind?" 

She was toying with me and I loved it. "Exhale away. I enjoy breathing your 
sweet exhales just as I did the last time we were out." I knew I had put 
myself out on a limb with this statement and I braced for impact. 

I was pleased when Trish kept going. "And if we happen to kiss and I 
accidentally pass you some of my smoke, you won't mind?" 

This kind of talk was giving me an erection and Trish somehow must've 
sensed it. Still this was a test, I thought. I spoke softly, "No, I won't 
mind at all. I was looking forward to it when you told me you'd done it 
before. I wanted to kiss you that way too." 

Trish was quiet for a moment. Then I heard the distinct click of her 
Calibri lighter through the phone and the gentle inhale of her breath. 
"Mark?" she purred. 

"Yes?" 

"Can you come up right now?" 

"Yes. I'd love to." 

"Oh, good." Trish was sounding intentionally submissive and sexy. "I've 
been such a bad girl. I'm smoking again and I can't seem to control it. 
Maybe if you come up, if someone was here with me, I'd do better." 

Trish was making me harder every second that I listened to her. She was 
definitely poking at my soft spot through the telephone and the longer we 
stayed on the line, the more I know I revealed it. "I'm practically on my 
way. Can you give me some directions?" 

Again the sexy voice. "Oh, I'm terrible with directions. Maybe if I give 
you the address you can find it on a map?" 

"Give it to me," I said. I was eager for her to tell me so I could be in my 
car and on the road. 

I wrote down the number and street as Trish spoke one last time. Then she 
ended with, "Oh, and Mark? Please hurry. I think we have some catching up 
to do." 

After she hung-up, I said, "You bet we do." 

I was in a rush. The 20-mile drive from my house to Trish's driveway just 
off Pilgrim Mill Road took me less than 20 minutes and part of the route 
included residential areas with stoplights. 



I had been to Lake Lanier before and I knew it was surrounded in trees but 
I was surprised as I stood on Trish's driveway, there was no hint of the 
lake. Thick poplars, oaks and hickories all in full bloom provided a lush 
canopy over the small house. When I closed the car door behind me, I was 
struck by the sudden thump it made. Everything was so perfectly quiet. The 
noise of my shoes crunching up the path to the porch seemed intensely 
amplified. No surprising anyone here, I thought. I figured Trish had heard 
me coming when I rounded her lane a half-mile back. 

Her little cabin was idyllic. It was a simple yet charming one and a half 
story unit with dormer windows looking out from a loft or possibly two 
small bedrooms. There were several steps leading up to a wrap-around porch 
and a couple of wooden rockers and a porch swing. The front yard was 
naturally landscaped with traces of grass growing between the large 
hardwood trees. Azaleas still sprouting some of their spring color mixed 
with annuals and some other shrubs in flowerbeds up against the house. 

Trish had neighbors on either side but their similar-looking cabins were 
far recessed into the trees and situated on enough acreage that gave the 
impression there was no one around for miles. Everything looked very 
private and secluded. I negotiated the steps to the front door and noticed 
a note written in neat, feminine cursive. It said: 



Mark, 

Come on in. I'm down at the dock. Just go out the back door and follow the 
path. Hope you brought your swimsuit- 

Trish 



I tried the doorknob and it opened. Hmm, trusting soul, I thought. Inside, 
Trish's cabin was just as cozy as outside. It was nicely decorated but not 
lavish. The kitchen was small but modern. There was a wood burning stove in 
the middle of the great-room and a circular staircase that did in fact lead 
to a loft. There was just a slight trace of fresh cigarette smoke and 
Coppertone in the air - nothing overpowering. And there certainly wasn't 
the worn stale smell of smoke like someone had smoked here regularly. 

I quickly scanned the room. Not too much clutter, everything pretty much in 
its place with the exception of a comforter on the floor in front of the 
couch and a tennis racquet resting in a chair. No ashtrays in sight. I did 
notice on the kitchen counter an opened carton of Virginia Slims Menthol. 
It looked like two or three packs were missing. So, she's back on the 
full-flavors, I thought then smiled. I walked to the back door that led to 
a small deck, which was actually a continuation of the front porch. As I 
stood near the rail and followed the path into the lush woods with my eyes, 
I still couldn't make out the lake. I lingered for a moment and again was 
taken by the peaceful surroundings of this getaway spot. How could Trish, a 
recent divorcee, afford to keep a second place like this, I wondered? 

It was near 7:00. There would be about another hour and a half of daylight. 
I looked up and spotted some cumuli clouds in the area threatening rain 
maybe later on. The billowy tops were starting to glow orange in the low 
evening sun. I seemed to be stalling as I hung back on the deck looking 
down the path. I was nervous, no doubt. Since our last somewhat botched 
meeting, I wanted to script this little get-together to be perfect. I knew 
I couldn't do it (and I shouldn't even try) but still, I wanted to feel 
some control. Oh hell, just roll with it, I thought. She asked you up here, 
didn't she? You didn't plan ANY of this. That was my last thought on the 
matter as I stepped onto the footpath leading down to the lake. 

About 20 yards down the path I started to notice blue water shimmering 
between the trees, tangled branches and green leaves. So, there IS a lake 
down here after all, I marveled. I was relieved yet anxious about seeing 
Trish. I followed the gradually descending path another 100 yards or so 
before coming to a clearing when I spotted her. At the edge of the woods 
was the shoreline and a small white gazebo. From the gazebo ran a narrow 
wooden pier leading to a dock with two covered slips. One of the slips held 
a late-model 19-foot Sea Ray ski boat. Trish was sitting on the built-in 
bench in the gazebo wearing a white terrycloth robe over her bathing suit. 
She had a matching white towel on her head, and, yes, she was smoking a 
freshly lit cigarette. She spotted me at the clearing and waved with her 
free hand. I waved back. 

When I got closer, Trish stood up from the bench and greeted me with a hug. 
This gave me a bit of a surprise. It was not a particularly affectionate 
hug, more like one you'd give a good neighbor or longtime friend. I was not 
either one at this point so I probably looked a little taken. 

"Mark! You must've driven like a fool getting up here. Seems like I just 
hung up." Trish laughed. 

"Yeah, I was in the neighborhood." I returned her hug with a quick peck on 
the cheek. The contact was wonderful - especially since she was smoking. It 
was the first true touching since our one and only slow dance at Cal's. 

"Sure you were." Trish was smiling great big. She was genuinely happy to 
see me and her huge smile melted most of my stupid doubts. 

"Well, uh, you gave me good directions." 

I wanted to get off this subject since, for some weird reason, getting up 
here quickly made me appear overeager. "Trish, this place is phenomenal. 
This dock, and lake setting is fantastic. How'd you ever find it?" My 
question inside was really, How'd you ever keep it after the divorce-? But 
I held my tongue. We'd get to it sooner or later I presumed. 

"It is nice, isn't it? I told Jim after we split up that all I wanted was 
the cabin up here, that he could have the house. But after we got into the 
practicality of it, I knew I'd have to stay in Alpharetta because of the 
schools for Amber. He said we'd have to sell this place. Well, it's a long 
story but I was able to pull a few strings and basically `buy' it from Jim 
on the cheap. Who knows, after Amber goes off to college, I may just sell 
the Alpharetta home and move here permanently." After Trish finished her 
little explanation, she took a long puff on her cigarette and opened her 
mouth wide to inhale. 

I took no more than a second to watch the smoke disappear down her throat 
then spoke, "Yeah, I'd love to live up here. It's so quiet and so removed 
from congestion of Atlanta and the suburbs." I found myself wondering what 
Trish did for a living but figured we'd get to that too-maybe. "How often 
do you come up?" 

Trish waited until all her smoke was exhaled then spoke, "I haven't been up 
since the Fourth." She looked to be pondering something then quickly took 
another puff from her Virginia Slims. With smoke in her lungs she said, 
"Come on, let's go for a ride. You wanna go out on the boat?" 

How could I resist? Trish seemed to be moving with genuine spontaneity and 
I thought it best to follow her lead - no more planning, damn it. "That's 
your boat too, huh? Unbelievable." I appeared to think about it for a sec, 
then spoke, "Yeah, sure, I'd love to go for a ride." 

We walked out to the dock. I followed Trish and enjoyed smelling the 
combination of her sweet smoke and suntan lotion. I tried to concentrate on 
the surroundings but found it nearly impossible. I did take notice that 
Trish's property was in a cove or an estuary off the main body of the lake. 
The shoreline across from her dock was about 200 yards away and I could see 
other boat docks scattered about. No activity was stirring in the cove this 
evening and there was hardly a ripple on the water. I watched Trish take 
one final puff from her half-spent cigarette then daintily lean down and 
rest it on the water under the wooden pier. As she stood up, she gave me an 
embarrassed smile before pursing her lips releasing the smoke from her 
chest. 

Trish proved quite adroit at handling the boat. I helped her undo the two 
mooring lines and within seconds she had the engine started and we were 
heading out of the cove at 30 miles an hour. Once fully underway and away 
from the shoreline, she took a moment to pull the towel off her head and 
slip out of her short bathrobe. She had on a very colorful tropical-looking 
bikini that revealed her nice even tan, round breasts and sculpted legs. 
Again, I couldn't believe that this incredibly athletic woman smoked and 
that I was alone with her out on this boat. 

After zipping along the water for about 15 minutes we left the area known 
as Young Deer Creek, which was where Trish's cove was and entered the 
western edge of the main body of Lake Lanier. I could see Lake Lanier 
Islands to the east, where I'd played golf many times and to the south, I 
could see Buford Dam looming low on the horizon. The sun was getting lower 
and the thunderheads I'd noticed earlier were definitely continuing to 
build. Still, the water was relatively calm and there were no other boats 
near us - it was remaining a beautiful evening. As I sat gazing at the 
horizon just beyond our wake, Trish decided to pull the throttle back and 
let the boat's momentum smoothly cease. We glided along for a few moments 
then she cut the engine. All of a sudden it was silent. Without notice, 
Trish laughed and then dove over the side into the lake. She quickly 
surfaced and did a few backstrokes away from the boat saying, "Come on in, 
the water's great!" 

I was still wearing my shorts, golf shirt and topsiders. I stood up and 
showed her my clothing. "I don't have a swimsuit." 

"Oh, come on-just jump in. Or, you can take all your clothes off. We skinny 
dip out here all the time." 

"What? You're kidding, right?" I was stunned but admired her boldness. 
"Okay, I will if you will," I finally said, calling her bluff. 

Trish laughed and then to my surprise reached underwater and took off her 
bikini bottom and flung the wet ball with straps onto the boat. My heart 
skipped a beat. I couldn't believe it. What is she doing, I thought? The 
water was fairly murky and you couldn't really see much but I figured 
sooner or later, she'd have to get back into the boat. "Okay, you're turn," 
she taunted. 

I quickly realized I was going to have the more difficult task. How was I 
going to get naked and jump in without her seeing me? This is outrageous! 
After giving it some thought, I decided to sit down on the floor of the 
boat out of her sight and strip. Then when I noticed which side she was on, 
I stood up with my naked bottom to her and jumped in on the opposite side. 
I quickly swam to a point just off the bow until I spotted Trish. I caught 
her just as she was winging her bikini top onto the boat. Unbelievable, I 
thought. 

I continued to swim around towards her but didn't know how close we were 
`supposed' to get. I was too low in the water to see Trish's exposed 
breasts but I could easily see she had no top on. I had never been skinny 
dipping on my second date (or was this a date?) and didn't quite know the 
`rules'. Hell, I'd only been skinny dipping with one other woman and she 
happened to be my wife at the time. 

Finally Trish broke the silence and said, "Isn't this great?" like she'd 
done it all the time. 

"Yeah. It feels good," I said. I was still a little nervous about the whole 
thing. 

Trish swam up close to me. Again I noticed how murky the water was. There 
wasn't a lot to see but jagged shimmers and reflections of skin being 
danced around by the choppy water. She smiled then quickly brush my skin as 
she dove underwater. I followed. 

We continued to play in the water around the boat a little longer, getting 
close to each other, sometimes touching, but not really seeing each other's 
exposed bodies. I knew we weren't going to have sex out here in the lake 
like a couple of porpoises or even do it in the boat for that matter. And 
that was all right. But this did seem to be a prelude - perhaps a letting 
down of our first line of defenses. All things considered, the thought of 
having sex with Trish, even if it was going to be later tonight, was a 
dizzying proposition. 

Getting back into the boat wasn't as difficult as initially suspected. 
First Trish climbed up the ladder on the stern while I floated near the 
front of the boat. She stood up on the deck momentarily only letting me see 
her backside before slipping on her terrycloth bathrobe. She was decent in 
a matter of seconds. Then she moved to the bow seating area and sat facing 
away from the stern. This allowed me the chance to quickly climb up the 
same ladder and pull on my shorts while she graciously looked the other 
way. Neither of us spoke. It was just understood courtesy. I also think 
part of the unspoken agreement was we wanted to save some of it for later. 
It wasn't as if we were both suddenly modest and regretful of what we'd 
just done. We were just exercising a little foresight, that's all. 

Our ride back to the cove and Trish's dock went much faster. Trish had the 
boat running at near full-throttle and we were skimming along at 40 - 45 
miles an hour. Again, Trish showed her dexterity at seamanship by making a 
flawless approach to the dock. After she'd killed the engine, she asked me, 
"Could you tie us up please?" then skipped onto the pier and headed away 
from the boat. 

I climbed onto the dock and grabbed one of the lines and watched Trish 
nearly run to the gazebo. At first I didn't know what she was after until I 
saw her bend down and pick up what looked like her lighter and pack of 
cigarettes. I held the rope and stared from a distance as she lit one of 
her Virginia Slims and did a double pump before exhaling. When I saw her 
start to head back, I quickly looked down and started to finish my job of 
securing the boat. 

"Thanks for finishing up," she said. "I really needed to smoke." She was 
holding her freshly lit 100mm cigarette in one hand and the pack itself 
with the lighter in the other. It was her gold Calibri. 

I figured we'd been out for no more than 45 minutes tops and she was 
already having nicotine urgings. Wow. "Sure. No problem," I answered. "Is 
the craving that strong?" I couldn't imagine. 

Trish waited until I stood up and we were both headed toward shore before 
answering, "God, if you only knew- It's been much worse lately since I 
tried to quit than before, if you can believe that." 

"Is that right?" I asked, not wanting to sound either condescending or too 
eager to discuss her addiction. "Can that be possible?" 

Trish gave a hopeless laugh. "I don't know. I've never tried to quit before 
last week." 

We both sat down on the bench once we reached her gazebo. Trish began a 
long puff and I pretended to look at the lake. I think she wanted to finish 
her cigarette outside before we walked up to the house. The air was calm 
and I was catching the sweet scent of her exhales as she'd blow out smooth 
streams of smoke. I could sense myself getting hard just watching this 
wonderful display. Trish seemed to be enjoying the moment as she let the 
nicotine invigorate her body. Finally she resumed, "And the odd thing is, I 
never intended to smoke, ever, let alone get addicted like this." 

"You ex-husband, Jim, huh?" 

"Yes, yes. I guess I told you the whole story Friday night. Of course. Then 
the evening got a little fuzzy." Trish laughed and covered her mouth. 

"It's okay. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, really." I loved the 
story she told that night but could see being a tad embarrassed by it if it 
were me. 

Trish took a last puff from her cigarette, inhaled and said, "Yeah, sure," 
then laughed as she pushed the smoke out in quick jets using her lower lip. 

As we walked up the trial toward the house, I detected the muffled roar of 
a distant thunderclap. It was near dusk and a storm was coming. "Did you 
hear that?" I asked. 

"Yup. I know we need the rain, but thunder and lightning gives me the 
creeps," she said. 

"Oh, it's way off in the distance. I doubt we'll get any rain tonight." But 
after I looked up I changed my mind. The sky was mostly overcast and when I 
extended my palm as a gesture, a raindrop actually hit it. 

Trish looked at me. She must've felt a drop hit her as well. "Shoot. I was 
going to smoke one more cigarette here on the deck before we went inside." 

"Oh, do you not smoke in your house?" 

She considered the question. "Oh, sometimes I do. Like if it's raining. But 
if I'm at my other house, I have a screened-in porch to sit on. Also, I 
want to be considerate of my guests." Trish looked at me sweetly. 

This was a quick test I told myself. I wanted to appear positive rather 
than indifferent to her smoking in the house. I wanted to encourage her to 
smoke inside without looking too eager, which was beginning to be a tough 
line to walk. "Trish, I don't mind if you smoke in your OWN house. In fact, 
I like to see you happy and doing what you want." I made direct eye contact 
with her to emphasize it was not just a case of my not minding - that I 
truly wanted her to. "It's okay, honest." 

Trish looked back at me shyly. "Really? I won't smoke that much-maybe just 
a few." Then she asked, "Hey, are you hungry? Have you had dinner?" 

"I guess I could eat something but I don't want you having to fix me a meal 
or anything." 

"No. There's a little mom and pop pizza place that just opened about a mile 
from here. They have great pizza and wings and they serve wine too." 

Trish must've seen my face drop. I wanted to stay here, listen to the rain, 
chat with her and maybe do a bit more later on. I wasn't that concerned 
with getting food, although the wine sounded good. 

"Or," Trish continued, "They deliver. You want to do that? I have a great 
Kendall Jackson Shiraz we can try." 

"Shi-what?" 

Trish laughed at me. "You've never heard of a Shiraz?" She was pronouncing 
it `Sha-rah'. 

"I presume it's a wine," I said, feigning offense. 

Trish laughed. "Of course. All the girls on my tennis team have raved about 
it. It's the latest fad, I guess. It's sort of like a Pinot Noir. Here, 
I'll open a bottle and you go dial the pizza number, it's on the fridge." 

This arrangement sounded much better. I walked over to the kitchen, found 
the number and began dialing. Trish walked to the other side of the counter 
and pulled out two large glasses, the bottle of wine and a corkscrew. It 
took her about a minute to open the bottle, pour the wine then walk back to 
the sofa. I stood in the kitchen watching her with the phone in my ear 
listening to hold music. 

After sipping her wine, Trish decided she would smoke in the house after 
all. She slid a cigarette out of her pack and placed it between her lips. 
As she readied the lighter, she looked at me across the room and asked, "Is 
this okay?" The slim white cigarette bounced in her lips. 

"Of course," I said. "We already talked about this, didn't we?" I winked at 
her. 

I think she appreciated the wink. It was a nice touch. Trish went ahead and 
lit her cigarette and sucked for a long time. After she set her lighter 
down, she slid the cigarette from her lips and gave an exaggerated pucker 
before she popped the huge volume of smoke into her chest. Between her 
exhales, she took several sips of wine. She closed her eyes, leaned back 
into the couch and sighed. 

I wasn't sure if it was her cigarette, the wine or both that made her sigh 
but she sure looked sexy as hell resting back with a glass of Shiraz in one 
hand, a Virginia Slims in the other and nothing on but a short white 
bathrobe. 

Trish was taking another puff when the pizza guy finally came on the line 
and asked for my order. I was in such a trance that I barely heard him. He 
had to ask again. I was in danger of him cutting me off so I yelled back to 
wait and please not hang up. Between Trish's puffs, I had to ask what kind 
of pizza she wanted. She said she didn't care, whatever I wanted was fine 
and returned to her smoking and sipping. We agreed that we weren't that 
hungry and settled on a medium veggie. I was told it'd be about 45 minutes 
then heard Mr. Pizza Guy click off. 

When I walked over to the sofa to pick up my glass of wine, Trish moved to 
allow me to get next to her. Once I was seated holding my glass, she 
surprised me by sliding up against me and resting her head and shoulders on 
my chest. She had just lit her second VS and asked again if it was going to 
be all right. I didn't say a word. I just squeezed her arm near the 
shoulder as if to reassure her. It worked because she took a long puff, 
audibly inhaled and never asked me the rest of the evening for permission 
to smoke. 

Watching Trish exhale smoke from this close distance was a treat in itself. 
I observed the smoke slowly flowing from her mouth was made from a 
combination of tiny strands of multiple thickness - not just a single 
density stream. It mixed with the air and held a perfect form of her pursed 
lips for several seconds before thinning and adding to the haze around us. 

After Trish watched the last traces of smoke leave her body, she tilted her 
head back to look up at me and said, "So, why don't you tell me your life 
story or something before the pizza arrives," then laughed. 

I shared her laugh and said, "I have a better idea. You tell me something 
private, something intimate about your past and I'll tell you something 
about mine." 

Trish laughed again. "Yeah, right. I think I already did tell you 
something, as in Friday night." Then she paused to consider my offer, 
"Okay, I'll play the game but you have to go first." 

Since Trish's `confession' to me on Friday night dealt with her ex-husband 
I decided to reveal something similar. Don't ask what made me so brave to 
reveal something so deep so soon but before I knew it, the thought fell 
down from my head onto my tongue like a gumball machine. "All right, are 
you ready?" I began. 

"Yes," she giggled, then began another puff. 

"My ex-wife used to smoke before we got married. Then, when I told her it 
was okay to continue to smoke, she quit abruptly and accused me of having a 
`sick fetish'." 

Trish turned to face me with a big smile. "Really?" she asked. 

"Yeah. It probably led to our divorce. Hell, it DID lead to our divorce. 
Our last argument before she left was about smoking." 

Trish moved from my chest and sat up to face me. She was still smiling to 
show she wasn't alarmed. "I don't get it. Your argument was about why she 
WASN'T smoking?" 

"No, no. Not exactly. She understood that there was a running invitation 
for her to resume her old smoking habit, if she ever got the notion. She 
took my invitation to mean that there was something weird lurking inside so 
rather than embrace her old habit from college she took pains to make sure 
she never smoked again - especially in front of me. She said smoking in 
front of me scared her, if you can believe that." 

Trish was having a hard time digesting this, I could tell. When I stopped 
talking, all she could say was, "Huh?" 

So I resumed in an attempt to fill in the gaps. "Yeah. I think two things 
led to our final argument and subsequent divorce. The first was, we went 
out the night before with another couple and had a grand time. The wife of 
this other couple smoked and, after a couple of drinks, Renee started 
smoking with her. When I saw this I was delighted but was careful not to 
make a big deal of it. Then, when we got home and Renee sobered up a 
little, I think she got embarrassed. My mistake was bringing it up at home. 
I tried to show positive reinforcement, that it was okay if she smoked, but 
we'd been down this road before. She already knew about my open invitation 
to her and was reminded of my `sick fetish'. We had a big argument and she 
asked for a divorce." 

Trish had put out her cigarette and was holding a new one between her 
fingers but had yet to light it. "Come on, Mark. That doesn't make sense. 
Renee must've had other problems or perhaps another man, if you don't mind 
my saying. She wouldn't leave you over that." 

"Well, she did," I said. 

"You said there were two things. What's the second." 

Trish was certainly perceptive. I knew I told her there was a second thing 
but I felt I'd said enough already. I had hoped she'd forgotten. "I'll get 
to that, maybe," I gulped. "But first you tell me something about yourself 
like you promised." 

Trish was now sitting opposite me on the couch showing a more serious 
countenance. She sipped her wine and continued to hold her unlit cigarette. 
"I don't know what to tell you. I don't have any other interesting stories 
like I told you Friday night at Cal's. I want to get back to your `second 
thing'." She flashed a knowing grin. 

"Come on, there's got to be something. How about what you did after I saw 
you in the Kroger three weeks ago." 

Trish looked puzzled. "What?" 

"You tried to quit smoking," I reminded her. 

"Oh yeah, that. I failed miserably. Obviously." 

"Did you smoke that carton of ultra lights?" 

Trish closed her eyes and laughed. "Yes. And it only took me five days to 
finish. But true to my word, when they were gone I stopped. I held out for 
exactly a week. When I finally got back to the store I was so mixed up. I 
was guilt-ridden and defiant. I bought a carton of the full flavors, 
these." She held up her cigarette. "And I cried the entire time I smoked my 
first one-but I got over it, I guess-maybe." 

"Sounds like you're still resentful about starting back," I said. 

Trish looked at me. I was expecting a smile but she offered none. She said, 
"Mark, I think if you gave it any thought at all, you'd know I was trying 
to quit for you." 

"Me?" 

Trish bit her lower lip and looked like she might cry. "Yes. I liked you 
from the start. And when you let me smoke when we went out, I thought you 
were just being nice. Then I told you my Jim story and then later, the more 
I thought about it, the more embarrassed I became. So, I figured the best 
way was to put the entire legacy thing behind me and try to quit. I felt I 
couldn't face you again with a cigarette in my hand." 

"But you did-" 

Trish gave me a stare like I was being deliberately dense. 

"Sorry." 

"I'm addicted. What can I say? That's why before I invited you up here on 
the phone, I wanted you to know exactly what you were getting into." 

"Oh. I do. I did. Uh, you know-" 

Trish shook her head. "Let me ask you something. Do you, or did you ever 
smoke?" 

I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out. 

She noticed and smiled. "I knew it. It's okay. You can tell me." 

"There's really nothing to tell. No, I don't smoke. But, yes, I have tried 
it. Hasn't everybody at some point?" 

"Did you like it?" 

I took a long time to answer. Trish was patient while I stewed on my 
response. "Yes, I liked it." I wanted to be as honest as possible but, as 
you know, the complexity behind my `yes' to Trish went much too deep to 
discuss with her (at least in its entirety). 

"If you liked it, what kept you from continuing?" 

"Fear, I guess. Fear of addiction. Fear of what people might say, namely my 
wife." 

Trish stopped her questioning. "Oh, that's interesting. You wanted your 
wife to smoke around you but you wouldn't do it around her," she responded 
with slight sarcasm. "Jim smoked openly and was always encouraging me. At 
first I was embarrassed and, like you, I feared what people might think. 
But I think it's different with women. Despite all the early women's lib 
crap and equality between the sexes, women still instinctively look up to 
men as their protector, their provider. We want to be kept safe and cared 
for and we want a man around to do it. So, if men want us to wear certain 
clothing, to dress or look a certain way, of course we do it and we 
practically kill each other, so to speak, to outdo the other in the 
process. So if a man, or men in general think it's sexy to see a woman 
smoke, what do you think will happen? Or, more to my point, what has 
happened? I'm a living example. I started smoking because Jim smoked and 
because he wanted me to. Several of my girlfriends are in the same 
situation, although their marriages are still intact and going strong. 
Don't ask me what happened to Jim. He was a little different. I think he 
always had a wondering eye, regardless of what I did for him. He's with 
someone else now. A cute little 21-year-old and even though I don't know it 
for sure, I'll bet she's started smoking and is as hooked as I am. So, yes, 
I get a little resentful from time to time." 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up Jim." 

"Oh, no, no. You didn't. I did. And even though I say I'm resentful, deep 
inside I'm grateful. No, there's more to this smoking thing than showing 
off for men. I enjoy it immensely. And yes, I admit, I'm hooked. Trish did 
this to herself, no man, not even Jim did it to me. I'm a big girl, I take 
full responsibility." 

I was getting hard again. I simply loved hearing her tale of addiction. 
"Trish, when did you discover that men in general, like Jim, like me, enjoy 
seeing women smoke?" We were making unbelievable headway. I was connecting 
with this woman like no other. She seemed to understand so much about me 
and it was so refreshing. And it came from her so matter-of-factly. 

"Well, it didn't take long in the marriage for Jim to admit it. Then, after 
he told me, I started asking my girlfriends. Women love to talk and compare 
notes about anything related to their guys and their marriage. As I said, 
I've got several tennis friends that have started smoking for their 
husbands and I know a lot about what goes on in their bedrooms. Women have 
an instinctive need to share this stuff when they get confused or hurt by 
their men." 

"Amazing." I wondered how many of Renee's friends knew of my `sick fetish'. 

"The thing is, I've also learned that not every man has a thing for women 
smokers." 

"But you know I do?" I intentionally phrased it as a question. 

Trish leaned over and put her hand on my leg near my crotch and smiled. "I 
do now, Mark. Unlike last Friday, I do now-" 

Instantly I felt she owned me. I could tell her anything and I knew she'd 
understand. I felt this huge relief of knowing a woman, a person like this. 
The feeling was better than any shrink could give me in a hundred sessions. 
I decided to speak. "Okay, I'm ready to tell you the second thing, the part 
I withheld earlier." 

Trish crossed her legs Indian-style on the sofa and finally lit the 
cigarette she'd been holding for so long. "Go for it." 

"Well, this is going to be hard to admit but somehow, after hearing what 
you know, which seems to be a lot, I think you'll understand." I took a 
deep breath. 

Trish watched me and moved closer to comfort me. "It's okay. If it'll make 
you feel better to tell me, go ahead but if you can't, don't worry about 
it." She resumed her old position of resting her head and shoulders on my 
chest and continued smoking. 

I watched her inhale and exhale a few puffs before speaking. It was fun to 
feel her chest expand as she breathed the smoke in and fun to watch her 
gently push it out of her body. "The reason Renee asked me for a divorce is 
that she found out I had these videotapes, not videotapes of porn mind you 
but tapes of-." 

Before I could finish, Trish sat up and said, "You're kidding?" 

I was stunned. Initially, I thought my having these videotapes revolted 
Trish as they did Renee. "What? Kidding about what?" I asked. 

"That Renee wanted to divorce you over owning some videotapes?" 

"You didn't let me finish. They weren't tapes with porn on them, they 
were-" 

She finished my sentence. "They were tapes with women smoking on them, 
right?" 

"God, how did you know?" I was shocked at her intuition. 

"Mark, you weren't listening. Women talk about these things. I found Jim 
had ordered some, then when I asked a friend about it, she showed me all 
the web sites on the Internet that carry the stuff. As I perused the 
various pages, I quickly learned that this industry wasn't designed just 
for Jim, that thousands, maybe millions of men have this fetish." 

"That's what Renee called it - a fetish. Although she always tacked the 
word `sick' in front of it." I paused and looked down. "I always thought I 
treated her well throughout the marriage. I gave her things. I did things 
for her. Then, just after she asked me for a divorce, I tried to get her to 
remember our good times, tired to change her mind. You know what she said?" 
Emotion had entered my voice. 

Trish shook her head. 

"She quoted some folksinger, Kim Richey I believe, she used to listen to 
when she got blue. It went something like, `You remember the way it never 
was. You've forgotten the things we didn't say. If you miss me the reason 
is because you remember the way it never was.' Can you believe that shit?" 
I asked, sounding indignant. "I heard the song months later on the radio 
and realized she was only quoting from someone that must've influenced her 
during her decade-long depression." 

Trish looked at me sincerely. "I'm sorry, Mark. That was a terrible thing 
to say-" 

"Yeah," was all I could manage. 

"I just can't believe she asked you for a divorce over the tapes - that she 
tried to pin it on that." 

"Believe me, as God as my judge-" 

"I believe you, I believe you," Trish laughed, trying to break the tension. 
"But as I said earlier, I believe Renee had other problems or another man 
or something else hiding in her closet. I think the norm for a female in a 
healthy marriage is to try to bend a little to help understand her 
husband's sexual desires and wishes. That may not necessarily mean taking 
up smoking for him but it doesn't rule it out either." 

"Interesting," was all I could manage. 

Trish settled back against me and finished her cigarette. We sat in silence 
until she leaned over, picked up the wine bottle on the table and emptied 
the remains into both our glasses. Then she spun on the sofa to face me. 
"Let's get off this topic. You know what I want to do?" she asked in a 
seductive voice. 

I noticed my heart rate increase. "What?" 

"I want to smoke with you. I want you to catch my smoke and then send it 
back. Want to try?" 

"Okay." I smiled but was starting to shake. 

Trish guided me back against the sofa into a semi-recumbent position. I was 
resting back with pillows supporting my head. She slid one of the last 
Virginia Slims out of her pack and placed it between her lips looking 
directly at me. She scooped up her gold lighter from the table and lit up 
without breaking eye contact and sucked long and hard before inhaling. Her 
lips were only inches from mine and she leaned over to give me a kiss. Our 
lips met but once they locked I opened my mouth and took all the smoke she 
had waiting. After breathing in, I let it all go back to Trish in a second 
exchange. She immediately took another long draw on her cigarette and 
inhaled with my previous smoke still in her lungs. She spoke in a soft but 
heavy voice, "Just let this one go back and forth till it ends." 

I took the second hit from Trish's lungs. It felt fuller than the first and 
I immediately felt the nicotine hit my system. I passed the smoke back to 
her but as soon as she inhaled, it came back to me in a milder dose. Every 
time I breathed out, Trish breathed in and vice versa. This went on for 
three more exchanges each until the smoke was invisible. I was feeling very 
hard below and in danger of coming right there in my shorts. Trish sensed 
my excitement and reluctantly backed off. 

"I just love doing that. It's been such a long time," Trish purred. "Let's 
do it again." 

I wanted to but was still spinning from the first round of nicotine. 
"Trish, you're used to this," I spoke. "I think I need to slow down." 

She smiled. "Oh, come on. Just once more. This time I won't take as long a 
puff." 

"Okay." How could I say no to her or to this wonderful smoking game? 

Trish was true to her word. She took a quick two-second puff and deeply 
inhaled. When our lips touched only a little smoke came out of her. We held 
the kiss touching tongues most of the time. I was surprised by how well 
Trish measured her smoke and kept most of it to herself. Still, I was ready 
to come and we hadn't even gotten close to making love yet. 

The third time was what did it. My lips were still brushing hers as we 
finished our kiss and Trish brought her cigarette up for another puff. Even 
though our lips were loosely locked, she found room to insert her VS and 
pull for about 3 seconds. Before I knew what was going on, I felt the warm 
sweet taste of her smoke once again enter my mouth and lungs. I sensed 
Trish couldn't resist keeping the game alive even though she knew I was 
saturated with nicotine. Once I had the smoke, she opened her mouth to 
receive it and started rapidly rubbing my firm member from outside my 
shorts. The effect was an instant orgasm and ejaculation. I had no control 
left. 

At first I didn't want Trish to know I came. Then, I think she figured it 
out when I saw her putting out her cigarette. 

"Sorry," I said. 

Trish pushed the remaining smoke from her lungs and stubbed out the 
half-smoked VS. "Oh, don't even say that. I was the one that got 
over-eager. I just haven't done that in so long. You did fine." 

"I came," I said. 

Trish smiled and gently patted my crotch. "I know." 

We kissed again, this time without the smoke. It was a long, tender kiss 
that communicated there'd be more intimate contact later. 



There is something wonderful about making love to a woman who is addicted 
to smoking. It was during our second session in the master bedroom when 
this realization hit me. We were locked in the customary missionary 
position and I was sliding into Trish with regular thrusts. We'd just 
finished an earlier round where Trish had smoked heavily during our 
lovemaking. Now, there were no cigarettes involved-just a man and a woman 
having good old-fashioned intercourse. I watched Trish wiggle beneath me to 
maximize my penetration. Her eyes were closed and I could tell she was on 
the brink of her second orgasm of the evening. Again, the thought hit me in 
mid-stroke how turned on I was to be fucking this beautiful female so fond 
and addicted to smoking. This thought got me harder and harder until I came 
deep inside her for the second time in thirty minutes. Trish eventually 
came but admitted later that the series of jolts she received during our 
first session where she got to smoke was much more intense. 

As we settled back to rest, Trish enjoyed her final cigarette before we 
both dozed off. She didn't seem too interested in it though and I 
commented. 

"Tired?" 

"Yeah-but not sleepy. Too much nicotine running around in me at the 
moment." Then she chucked. 

"I'll bet. I'm surprised you're smoking after all you did during our first 
time." Trish had really smoked a ton - four cigarettes in a twenty-minute 
span, six-second puffs and no forced exhales. But in the end, it did yield 
her the intense orgasm she'd been seeking. 

"This one's pretty much for taste. And the tradition of one after sex, I 
guess." 

Trish looked over at me and offered a tender smile. Despite having just 
been through a sweaty workout, having mussed hair and no make up, she was 
still beautiful. Her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed a healthy shade of 
pinkish tan. At this moment, I wanted to tell her I loved her. I truly felt 
it and I realized that this woman was all I ever wanted. She was 
thoughtful, intelligent, insightful and beautiful. And yes, she smoked. 
After what we'd just been through, with the discussions we'd had, the 
understanding we'd come to and the physical closeness we'd experienced, the 
fact that she smoked could be relegated to nothing more than a small 
bonus-a golden nugget resting in her treasure chest. 

After Trish had fallen asleep, I stroked her hair gently and looked at her 
full lips. "I love you," I spoke very softly. I knew she didn't hear me, I 
was simply testing the phase aloud. But when the words came out, I knew I'd 
be telling it to her face very soon. 



The summers in North Georgia are tolerable, but just barely. July and 
August are especially brutal. The only saving grace is when a massive 
afternoon or evening thunderstorm moves through the area bringing a cooling 
rain. Last night did not bring a massive storm but did bring the rain and 
just a little thunder. Trish was so cute. After we'd finished making love 
and she'd finished her cigarette, she'd grab me and hold me closer under 
the covers with each crack of thunder. The thunder finally moved out of the 
area bringing the nice soaking rain that lasted almost to dawn. 

I was the first to wake up around 7:00. I carefully slid out of bed and 
went to the kitchen to make some coffee. After I got the machine to start 
its slow drip, I stepped out onto deck behind the house. The air was cool 
and moist and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The laden trees were still 
shedding rain water and they glistened in the low morning sun. I felt drawn 
to the lake so I made my way slowly down the path and sat on the bench in 
the gazebo overlooking the blue water. The cove was serene and inviting. 
There was only a slight ripple to the water. A few loons were calling to 
one another breaking the otherwise silent dawn. I cherished this moment, 
seeming to be in perfect harmony with my surroundings. It felt wonderful to 
be alive. 

I let my mind drift back to last night and then to the meeting of Trish in 
the church parking lot almost a month ago. When I pictured her lovely smile 
and sweet innocence I felt it impossible not to love her. As I remembered 
thinking last night, she's all I'd ever want. Then I frowned. Somehow Renee 
had crept into my thoughts. At first I didn't quite know what caused it but 
then realized, I was perhaps fearful that Trish could turn on me the way 
Renee did. I was vulnerable. I had told her a lot. Maybe I should break it 
off with Trish before I get hurt again, I thought. Maybe she doesn't feel 
for me the way I feel for her. Maybe she too thinks I have a `sick fetish'. 
No, no, stop thinking like that. Trish is so much more open with her 
thoughts than Renee ever was. Trish has no hidden agenda. What you see is 
what you get with her, I knew that much. She had no secrets and would never 
hesitate to be honest with me or with anyone. Not that Renee was dishonest, 
she just, well, she just was very guarded with herself. My guess was that 
it stemmed from her growing up in that mildly dysfunctional family I knew 
only too well. She had to retreat somewhere and oft times it was within 
herself. Trish had no similar hang-ups. She'd told me she grew up with 
loving parents and three older brothers and always felt protected and 
loved. Her candor and innocence reflected this and no doubt made it 
impossible for any man not to quickly fall in love with her. I recalled the 
way she told me how she'd gotten hooked on smoking by only wanting to 
please her husband and become a better partner / lover. This loving act fit 
her profile to a tee yet never ceased to amaze me when I thought about it. 
I could just picture poor Trish lighting one of her VS120s in bed thinking 
she'd arouse (and please) Jim only to be rejected by him. That story hurt 
when she first told it and it hurt to recall sitting here under the gazebo. 

My mind drifted back to Renee and our fateful talk about videotapes and 
divorce. As short a time as I'd known Trish, I knew something like this 
could never happen with her. She wouldn't care about any tapes. In fact, if 
she saw me with a tape, she'd probably want to sit down and watch it with 
me. Not that that would be ideal either but certainly a huge improvement 
over Renee. 

Then I thought about Jenni. Oh brother, how would I ever explain that to 
Trish? Do I dare tell her? I felt compelled by Trish's own honesty that 
someday I'd owe her an explanation - just as she'd shared her story about 
Jim. But Jim was her husband for crying out loud. Who was this Jenni? I was 
still trying to figure that one out even though it'd been a year. The 
brutal truth was she was nothing more than a budding porn star and 
prostitute (with a husband and two kids). I frowned again. I had hoped a 
year would've made me forget, or at least let the memory fade. Still, it's 
difficult to get that vision of Jenni out of my head, especially the one 
where I'm riding her hard and she's below me smoking, then her daughter, 
this little Cindy Lou Who lookalike, knocks on the door. That was the point 
the evening ended for me. The worst part was, and this is what still haunts 
me, Jenni wanted to ignore it. She wanted to keep going, like, `Oh, she'll 
take care of herself. After all, she's almost three for Christsake.' I was 
so glad to get out of that house and away from her. She seemed evil. Hell, 
she was evil. I was just thankful that nothing ever became of Guido's 
pursuit of me. 

Evil. I pondered the word. If Jenni were evil, what's that make me? Am I 
any better? Oh, I ran, that's right. Running away made it okay, didn't it? 
Wrong. It made it worse - at least in my mind it did. I shook my head. How 
could I ever tell Trish about this? Why would I want to? I thought and 
thought about it sitting under the gazebo. I looked out over the water 
again. Trish's boat was bobbing lightly and the leaves above rustled in the 
breeze. Things were so peaceful here. How could anything be wrong in the 
world when there are places like this, I thought? Even though I believed in 
forgiveness of sins, and I knew I was forgiven, I still felt that a 
confession would help. I knew I'd tell Trish and I'd do it soon. If we were 
to begin a serious relationship (and I had every intention of it) then I 
wanted to come clean with this episode in my life - mostly for my own 
benefit. I'd tell Trish other things too. And she'd tell me things. This is 
the way it is when a couple loves each other and is starting out together. 

I truly felt my life had come full circle at this very moment. I remember 
how helpless and confused I was in high school and how I met Renee in 
college and how I grew with her, to a point. We both grew but then we grew 
apart because-well, because I had the temerity to remember the way things 
never were. Indeed- And then I got confused again and the Jenni episode was 
the manifestation of my confusion. With Trish, I felt as if I were picking 
up all the positive things that had developed in my life and moving on. 
Jenni was a setback, a mild setback, and with Trish's help, I'd forget her 
entirely. 

As these thoughts drifted from my mind, I felt a cleansing and contentment 
wash over me. I knew that things were going to get better, that I was 
getting on with my life with a greater understanding of myself and I had a 
wonderful person to now share it. She really made a- 

"Hey, there you are. I thought you'd left me." Suddenly Trish's voice 
appeared behind me. She didn't sound worried, just happy she'd found me 
down here. 

I turned my head and squinted in the sun. "No, just enjoying the morning. 
Come sit with me." 

Trish smiled. She had on a thin black silk robe and was carrying two mugs 
of coffee. She handed one over and leaned up next to me on the bench with 
her feet up. It was like we'd been married for years. "You must've read my 
mind. I come down to the dock with my coffee like this every morning," she 
said. 

I just smiled and stroked her hair. 

She stared out over the water with me and took a sip from her coffee mug. I 
watched her absentmindedly slide her pack of cigarettes out of her robe 
pocket and light one. Neither of us spoke a word as Trish enjoyed her first 
cigarette of the day resting in my arms. 



THE END 

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