Amy's Choice

The following story is fictional and is provided solely for the enjoyment of
its readers. 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. 

Amy's Choice 
by AZ-MAN

Amy steps out of her bedroom and sighs. It's 9 o'clock sharp and the damn 
doorbell is ringing, meaning he's right on time. Ding-dong, ding-dong, 
ding-dong, it fires in rapid succession. Wayne usually makes himself at 
home, just as he's done the last seven years, and barges in unannounced. 
These days, he seems to be giving back a little more of her space. 

"Seems" is the operative word, mutters Amy. For no sooner than she takes 
two steps into the foyer, the door crashes open. 

"Hey, beautiful." 

"Hello, Wayne." 

"What's with the weird get-up?" 

"I was on the Stairmaster. Wayne, you can't just walk in like this," Amy 
complains. "You don't live here anymore. Remember?" 

Wayne ponders her remark then dismisses it. "Any beer left in the fridge?" 

Amy rolls her eyes. "What?" 

"Hey," Wayne remembers, "I rang the goddamn bell. Whaddya gettin' so huffy 
about? Can't blame me if you leave the door unlocked." He leans over to 
kiss her. 

She allows him a quick brush of her lips then pulls back. 

"Oh, so we're going to be like that tonight, are we?" he says. 

"Like what? We're divorced. What do you expect?" 

Wayne stares at her pink and black leotard then ventures, "Hey, you losin' 
weight or something?" 

Amy considers a response but settles on, "I'm going to finish my workout." 
She heads back to the master bedroom, turns and says, "There IS some beer 
in the refrigerator. I'll be done in a few minutes." 

Wayne sets an envelope on the hall table and heads for the kitchen. 

Back on her fitness machine, Amy hears the boys roar down the stairs to 
greet their father. Then it sounds like breaking glass accompanied by lots 
of laughing and cussing. She tries to resume her stair-climbing regime but 
her pace is shot. "Oh, fuck it," she says under her breath and reaches for 
her towel. 



"You know, I could deliver the child support twice a month and we could do 
this more often." 

"No, we're managing fine. Once a month is plenty." 

"Oh, you're no fun. You enjoy this and you know it." 

"Just be quiet." Amy shifts her position on the bed underneath him. 

"I'm getting close. I'm about to pop." 

"Not yet." 

"Can't help it." 

"Think about something else. We just started." 

Wayne slows his pelvic rhythm and looks around the semi-darkened room. 
"Hey, since when did you start smoking?" 

"Huh?" 

"That pack of cigarettes, right there." Wayne nods at the nightstand. 

Amy looks over then blushes. "Oh, that. Always." 

"Bull shit." 

"No bullshit. Just another thing you failed to notice about me." 

Wayne resumes his thrusting motion. He's harder than before. "Now I really 
am going to pop." 

"No." 

"Yep. Whee-haaaaaaa!" 

Amy lies motionless below him until he's finished. "Oh, Wayne." 

"Oh, Wayne!" he mocks. 

Minutes later, "So, you smoke now, huh? Let me see you smoke one." 

Amy wants to smoke but has yet to come out of the closet with her year-old 
habit. "No, not now. It's time you run along, Wayne." She reminds herself, 
then I'll smoke. 

"I have a better idea. We make love one more time while you smoke, then I 
run along." 

Amy's eyes get big. "You're insane." 

"I'm in love." 

She rolls her eyes. "Get lost." 



"Amy, when are you going to learn? Wayne's a child," says her friend, 
Ramona. "And you're no better, for heaven's sake, giving him a quickie 
every time he brings the check." 

"At least he's bringing the checks again." 

"Tell him to start mailing them." 

Amy doesn't respond. She knows she's wrong to even be letting Wayne in the 
house. Instead she takes a long puff on her cigarette and lets the nicotine 
tingle through her body releasing the last vestiges of inner tension. 

Ramona smiles and changes the subject. "So, you're out of the closet now. 
Thank God." 

"No. `Thank Ramona'." Amy inhales another long drag and lets the smoke sit 
in her chest. She marvels that the tingle is now reaching her toes. 

The waiter hovers near their table as Ramona lights another one of her long 
More 120s. He seems to stare, first at Ramona then at Amy. Ramona stares 
back during her inhale. "Yes?" she inquires. 

He quickly asks if the two ladies would like any more coffee. Then, after 
topping them off, he decides to linger. 

Ramona allows him to watch her thick exhale before waving him off. "You may 
go," she says, then laughs. 

Amy laughs too but is looking at Ramona. She's not quite sure what's going 
on. 

"What is it about guys and smoking?" Amy wonders aloud. 

"See. Didn't I tell you? 

"Yeah, but about last night - Wayne was, well - 

"You didn't smoke in front of him, did you? Tell me you didn't smoke for 
that imbecile." Ramona looks worried. 

"No." 

A sigh of relief, "Good girl." 

"But he saw my cigarettes on the nightstand." 

"Oh." 

Both women smoke in silence letting their exhales intermingle over the 
table and turn into a sweet foggy haze. 

Finally Amy asks, "Is it possible to smoke and make love at the same time?" 

Ramona is in mid-puff and smoke pours from her nose and mouth as she gasps. 
"Oh no. Is that what that little pervert wanted you to do last night?" 

"I think. Is that part of it too?" 

"It's a BIG part of `it'. All guys want to get to that step. You just make 
sure Wayne never gets there - with you that is." 

The two women go back to just smoking. Amy watches Ramona French inhale a 
portion of her smoke before popping the balance in her mouth. Ramona does 
this repeatedly until her More is but a tiny brown stub. She puts it out 
and immediately reaches for another. 

Amy's pace is more relaxed. A light smoker for less than a year and 
delivered from the closet just this morning, she must be very careful about 
how much and how deeply she inhales. Visiting with Ramona while she smokes 
is brand new. Visiting with anyone while she smokes is new. At home in bed, 
she could always concentrate on just how much smoke to deliver to her 
system. She was getting careless as she chatted away earlier. Still, it was 
wonderful, she reflects, even a bit naughty. The subtle tingling of energy 
pulsing throughout her system provides a vague understanding of how 
addiction could result from this sublime pleasure. I'm probably already 
addicted, she suspects, then smiles. 

"Have you ever done it?" asks Amy. 

Ramona knows what Amy is referring to but wants to hear the whole question 
posed to her. "It?" 

"You know. Smoke for a guy in bed." 

Ramona laughs, but it's more a nervous laugh. "I'd be careful if I were 
you." 

"Why? Is it hard to do?" Amy asks. She wouldn't want to injure her partner. 

Ramona laughs again because she's truly taken by her pretty friend's 
naivete. "Oh, Amy, stop. You're killing me. You're too funny." 

Amy shows an embarrassed smile. "What? Really, I want to know. Come on." 

Ramona gets serious. "Yes. Of course I've done it." Now she lowers her 
voice to a whisper. "You be careful though because after you've smoked and 
screwed a few times, it'll be the only way you'll want to do it, period." 

"Nooo," Amy whispers back incredulously. "Really?" 

Ramona only stares. 

Amy takes a long puff on her freshly lit Benson and Hedges Menthol Light. 
She becomes aware of the warm moisture developing between her legs. Talking 
like this while smoking excites her. She decides Ramona must be right. 
Before they leave the restaurant, Amy concludes it's worth the risk. She 
simply must have a man while she smokes. 



Amy admits to hating job interviews. She smokes nervously in her car while 
waiting for her 9:00 appointment at Harrison & Rickover LLP, one of several 
prominent law firms in the Crocker Concourse. There is extra tension since 
this will be her first shot at working as a paralegal. She went back to 
school for her certificate about the time Wayne's checks quit coming 
deciding more money would be needed than her meager waitress's job at the 
local Olive Garden would bring. 

Amy looks down at her watch then fidgets with her hair in the rearview 
mirror. She takes a four-second draw on her half-smoked B&H, inhales and 
holds her breath. The door on her tiny Hyundai opens, she stands up and 
steps on her cigarette. 

"Pardon me," a man in a suit calls out as he quickly skirts around Amy's 
opened door. 

"Huh?" 

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you getting out." The man is handsome and he's 
smiling. 

"Oh, no, it's my fault," Amy says, noticing smoke leaking from her mouth 
and nose. 

The man continues to smile. 

Amy is embarrassed. She purses her lips and blows but nothing comes out. 

"Are you headed into Concourse 2?" he asks. 

Amy says she is, the fifth floor actually. 

"Great. So am I." He holds out his hand, "Mitch Reynolds." 

She shakes it. "Amy Gardner." 

Amy is suspicious when Mitch tells her she must be going to Harrison & 
Rickover until she discovers the firm occupies the entire fifth floor. 



It is now close to high noon and Amy is listening to Andy Rickover, the 
managing general partner, drone on in his office. She has no clue if she's 
going to get the job or not as she stares out the window. At this point, 
she doesn't even care. The interview process became a dizzy blur when her 
first real craving for a cigarette hit about 10:30. Her attention span 
stood at nil when she entered Rickover's warm office 30 minutes ago. 

Mr. Rickover seems intent on giving poor Amy the firm's entire life 
history. He won't shut up. What in the hell has this got to do with 
anything, she wants to blurt out. Desperation takes over and she is forced 
to interrupt him. "Stop. Please. I need to use the restroom." 

Mr. Rickover is distressed by this development but stands up and graciously 
asks his secretary to please show Ms. Gardner to the ladies room. Amy tells 
the secretary thank you but she'll find it herself. Instead she dashes to 
the elevator and just before it closes, in walks Mitch Reynolds. 

"Going downstairs to smoke?" he asks revealing an anticipatory grin. 

How does this guy know so much, Amy thinks. Then she looks down and 
realizes she's already got her Benson & Hedges pack out of her purse. "Just 
a quick one. They think I've gone to take a pee." 

Mitch laughs at Amy's carefree use of the word `pee'. "Me too." 

"Gone to take a pee?" 

"No. As in, me too, I'm going to smoke. Care to join me?" 

Amy says yes and Mitch leads them out a backdoor of the building onto a 
small patio with two tables and several chairs. She allows him to light her 
and has trouble restraining herself, greedily sucking smoke into her lungs 
after four long delicious drags. Mitch seems to be watching her with more 
than casual interest so she slows her fervent puffing and smiles weakly. 
She's embarrassed in front of him for the second time today. 

"Sorry. I just need to get though this in a hurry," she says. 

Mitch gives her a compassionate fatherly look. "It's okay. We've all been 
there." 

"Not me. Well, not like this." Amy starts a second serious of long puffs 
glancing down at her watch. The feeling is not the wonderful tingle she'd 
been accustomed to in her early weeks of smoking. This time the nicotine 
only offers a soothing calm to her nerves. Yet it feels remarkably 
refreshing, like cool water quenching a fire that was burning in her chest 
only minutes ago upstairs. 

Mitch stares at Amy's bountiful exhales. The smoke flowing from her chest 
does not seem to end. He detects a boner starting to take shape in his 
slacks and shoves his hand in his pocket for concealment. "Are you just 
starting today with Harrison & Rickover?" he finally asks. 

Amy has trouble with the question. She has never flash-smoked a cigarette 
before and wouldn't know the term if she heard it. For a moment it looks 
like the patio furniture is swirling about her and she feels like she's on 
a pitching deck of a small ship. She looks down and notices smoke still 
trailing from her nose and mouth. Her cigarette is nearly gone so she 
carefully makes her way to the sand ashtray and pushes it in. "I'm sorry, 
what did you say?" Amy needs to sit down. 

"Are you just starting work today - at Harrison & Rickover? I haven't 
noticed you before." Mitch remains standing and smoking. 

Amy laughs. "Actually, I'm just here for an interview. I had to run out of 
that Mr. Rickover's office to, uh, to smoke." She tugs at her watchband. "I 
really need to get back up there." Amy can still see traces of smoke in her 
breath in the bright sunlight. 

"Yeah, ol' Rick sure likes to take his time. If you got as far as him 
today, I'm sure you'll get an offer." 

"You think?" 

"Yeah, you're as good as in," Mitch fibs but figures he might be able to 
pull some strings if it comes to that. Now that he's met this ravishing 
young smoking goddess he certainly won't let fate alone decide her future 
at the firm. 

Amy stands up and straightens her short skirt. She tells Mitch it was nice 
meeting him and hopes she sees him again (if she gets the job, that is). He 
suppresses an evil grin and tells her not to worry, he's sure she'll get 
it. 



Orientation at the firm is the most boring thing Amy has ever had to sit 
through. All she can do is twirl her hair and think about smoking as she 
sits in the windowless conference room listening to a lecture on how to 
handle proprietary documents. Maybe it was a mistake to take an office job 
where you have to go hours on end without smoking. Her new boss (a 
non-smoker) certainly wouldn't have any sympathy if she disappeared from 
her desk twice every hour for a cigarette, would he? At least at the OG she 
could disappear into the bar and smoke when the cravings hit her. And 
what's up with these heavy cravings, anyway? Things have become very 
confusing since smoking in public with Ramona less than a month ago. No 
longer self-constrained by only experimenting with two or three cigarettes 
every evening in her bedroom, Amy has lately enjoyed indulging decadently 
with no thought of consequence to her body. Her biggest hang-up had only 
been what people might think. 

Okay, okay, I'm addicted, she whispers to herself in the darkened 
conference room. She knows she'll be down on the patio soon if this bitch 
in the front of the room would ever shut up. To intensify matters, Wayne 
called this morning. He wants to bring the check by again tonight - 9 
o'clock sharp. She feels obligated to heed Ramona's stern advice and send 
the bum packing for good but part of her also craves their once-a-month 
tryst, their bone dance, as Wayne so affectionately calls it. It's not much 
but it's the only sex she's been getting for the last year and a half. 

Mitch Reynolds meets Amy on the patio at 11:30 as they agreed. He 
congratulates her on winning the job but knows he actually DID have to pull 
some strings. The set of interviews had been fine until she walked out on 
ol' Andy Rickover. But smoothing that minor offense had been easy, well 
within Mitch's talent as a lawyer, statesman and shrewd office politico. 
Mitch wasn't about to let Harrison & Rickover's catch of the century (in 
his view) get away. 

Amy is a bit testy today and hopes her cigarettes (and Mitch) will put her 
at ease. In no time, Mitch lights both their cigarettes and Amy experiences 
the divine relief she hoped for. Who needs a man around when I've got 
these, she asks herself as the nicotine rushes her body. 

"What's that?" Mitch says, displaying his now-customary cheesy grin. 

Shocked, Amy asks, "Did I say something?" 

"You mumbled something." 

"Oh." Thank God. "No, I'm just glad to be out of that fuckin' conference 
room." 

Mitch takes note of the profanity and gains some confidence. Then when he 
sees Amy make a huge, dense ball of creamy smoke disappear down her throat, 
he asks, "So, you want to go out and catch some dinner tonight?" He meant 
to take longer before asking, sort of work it into the conversation but her 
aggressive and very sexy smoking manner short-circuited his plan. 

"Tonight?" Amy remembers the Wayne commitment, then frowns. 

"Any night." 

Amy smiles. "Why Mitch, are you hitting on me already? I just started here 
today?" She takes a long puff and exhales her rich stream near him on 
purpose (as Ramona advised her to do when a couple is flirting and 
smoking). 

This elicits the right response from Mitch. He has to place his free hand 
in his pants pocket. "Yes, I'm hitting, uh, asking. I'm free tonight. Come 
with me." 

"What if I told you I have a date - 9:00 sharp?" Amy has no intention of 
keeping the monthly `bone dance' appointment with Wayne. Earlier, back in 
the conference room she considered it. She even thought she'd experiment 
with smoking this time. But given the two options now facing her, the 
choice is easy. She is testing just to see how committed Mitch is to taking 
her to dinner - and beyond. 

"Then I'd say, I'll see you at 9:15," he says. 

"Pick me up at 8." 



The air smells wonderful to Amy as they sit chatting in the bar at JJ 
Alexander Esq., a swank restaurant in the heart of the downtown area. She 
notices two men with expensive cigars at the bar adding to the sweet aroma 
of sizzling steak and freshly prepared fish. There is wood paneling, soft 
ambient lights and a piano playing somewhere behind her. The hushed voices 
of conversation mix with the jingle of ice in her Manhattan as she raises 
it to her lips. She figures this must be a regular hangout for big shot 
lawyers that work in the city. 

Amy sees Mitch is having a tough time concentrating again. She's just 
placed the cherry from her drink between her lips and makes direct eye 
contact with him. She holds the red orb with her teeth, pulls the stem out 
and starts to slowly chew. A long puff from her Benson & Hedges follows. 

"As I was uh, saying, you have to just make sure you're, uh-" 

Amy continues to chew while she exhales smoke directly at Mitch's chest. 
"Yes, you were saying?" she asks with a sly smile. 

"I was saying that if you're really that concerned, there are ways to smoke 
at the office that won't reflect on your performance. You just have to time 
it right." 

"And how's that?" 

"Well, do like I do. I go out to the patio at 10, 2 and 5. Plus I smoke two 
at lunch. There's never a problem with that." 

"But Mitch, dear," Amy says sweetly, "That's only five cigarettes in what, 
ten hours? No offense, but I can't go that long. These days my addiction 
demands that I smoke at least a cigarette every hour, preferably two." 

Listen to these words, he thinks. `Addiction', `demands'. Damn, Mitch loves 
to hear her talk this way. Suddenly an idea hits him as he notices Amy's 
pack of Benson & Hedges Menthol Lights sitting in front of her at the 
table. "You need an upgrade," he suggests. 

"Upgrade?" 

"How attached are you to your brand?" He points to her pack on the table. 

"They're all I've ever smoked." 

"You're kidding?" 

Amy takes a puff on her cigarette and shakes her head no. 

"How long have you been a smoker?" 

"A year in the closet, a month out, more or less." 

"Wow." Mitch smiles as he breathes in Amy's second exhale aimed directly at 
him. 

"Wow, what?" 

"That's just not very, well, not very long. Usually when you ask someone 
when they started smoking, the answer is 15 or 16." 

"So? I'm ten years behind my peers. I've got some catching up to do." Amy 
smiles and takes another puff. 

The conversation slows. Mitch lights one of his own cigarettes and they 
watch each other smoke in silence. Amy can feel the effects of her 
Manhattan and wants to ask Mitch for another. Then she reaches for another 
one of her cigarettes but Mitch stops her. 

"Here, try one of these," he says and offers her a cigarette from his pack. 

"They're the same, aren't they?" Amy has noticed Mitch's pack. It's the 
Benson & Hedges Menthol brand but the box has a slightly different marking 
and hue. 

"They're full-flavor. They're almost twice the strength of yours." 

Amy grins lustily. "Really?" 

"Really." 

She accepts his light and takes her customary 4-second draw before 
inhaling. After a second puff and exhale, all she can utter is a soft, 
"Wow." 

"You like that?" 

"Mm hmm." Another long puff. 

"The idea is to smoke fewer cigarettes. These should get you through the 
workday without needing one every hour." 

"Won't happen," Amy says, nonchalantly. 

"Huh?" 

"Won't happen." 

"Why not?" 

"I can't explain it. I just know myself. I won't be able to resist. For the 
last month I've been smoking at least two cigarettes every waking hour. 
These won't change things." 

"Sounds like you have somewhat of an addictive personality." 

"I do. It's the same with coffee-same with sex." 

Mitch blanches momentarily. "Sex?" 

Her utterance surprises her but she continues, "Yeah. Lots of foreplay 
too." Amy has had neither very regularly in the last two years but decides 
tonight's going to change all that. 

Mitch leans across the table and lowers his voice, "How much foreplay? More 
than an hour?" 

"Yeah." 

He's leading her. "So what you're saying is, you'll need to smoke during 
foreplay?" 

She sips what's left of her drink. "Of course." 



Amy remembers having a nice dinner after their sex conversation but it went 
fast. Dessert, coffee and the ride to Mitch's place proceeded at a 
near-lightning pace. In the cab, it went unspoken that both were lusting to 
start mixing smoke with their sex and the sooner the better. 

Amy is stretched out on Mitch's king-sized bed in just her panties and is 
smoking one of his full-flavor B&H Menthols. The smoke is doing what her 
old brand used to do before getting heavily addicted. The fleeting euphoric 
tingle is back in full force and she is savoring it before he mounts her. 
Instinctively she knows the next 10 to 20 minutes will yield an experience 
unlike anything she's ever had with Wayne. 

Mitch takes his time to slowly enter her. He is firm and large, larger than 
Wayne. Amy soaks in the sensation and takes the first puff of her life 
while having intercourse. Mitch starts moving gently in and out. Amy takes 
another puff - then another. Something is different to all this - very 
different. She doesn't understand. She closes her eyes and takes a fourth 
puff not really bothering to exhale. It's like something is swelling up 
deep inside her and getting ready to pop. Her head is starting to tingle 
but much more intensely than what smoking alone would cause. Never before 
has she been to this level of sexual passion. Never before has she felt so 
much pleasure in such a short span of time. She wants to scream but holds 
back, realizing things are still building. How can it get any better, she 
wonders. 

Amy opens her eyes briefly only to see Mitch's torso rise and fall over her 
and wisps of smoke leave her mouth. Seeing the smoke causes her to 
automatically raise the waning cigarette to her lips one last time. Then, 
as she would reflect later, it was as if a wave of bright light had swept 
into the master bedroom and carried her off to someplace very far away. She 
is hit with an incomparable, tingling, explosive, mind-bending release of 
energy so great that she feels her body has escaped to a far corner of the 
universe. She is left shaking, quivering and screaming below Mitch. 

When the wave finally releases its grip and Amy returns, she finds herself 
sobbing in his arms deeply satisfied yet saddened and convinced that she'll 
never get to go there again, that once in a lifetime is all anyone is 
entitled to. But Mitch assures her that she certainly will go there again 
and go there often. Amy brightens at this hopeful news. She reaches over 
for another one of his full-flavor cigarettes and lights it. 

"Really?" she asks.