Ashley and Me, Part 1

Ashley and Me

Anonymous

*****

This is a love story of sorts.  I say "of sorts", because it's not your
typical love story containing the typical love story mechanics.
Rather, it's a story told from a particular paradigm; that of the
smoking fetisher.  Don't misunderstand me; I love her for all of the
typical reasons.  If I were to tell the typical love story (and I
already told you that I won't), I would tell you about how I love the
woman I love because she's beautiful, both physically and mentally.  I
would tell you about our conversations, which were and still are
marvelous; about how her eyes first caught mine, or how I felt when I
first touched her bare skin with my hand.  I would tell you about her
quick wit, her sharp intellect, and her generous humor.  I love her
because she's a wonderful human being.  But those stories have been
told before, and I would instead like to tell you about something
exciting; something extraordinary.  I will still include the
traditional elements, because I want you, the listener, to have a sense
of why I really love her, which has little to do with her smoking.  But
it seems to me that her smoking had something to do with it, as it was
the root of my initial fascination with this beautiful woman.  And so I
will concentrate a great deal on that element.  I think you will find
it sensual and sexy, perhaps a bit intriguing.

You see, she is a cigarette smoker.  She smokes because she enjoys it;
she enjoys the taste and the feel of the smoke in her body.  Now, those
of you who are smoking fetishers already know what I am getting at.
Those of you who don't get it, continue listening; you might get it by
the end.  Smoking is a sensual act.  It is an indication of the
carefree side of a person, the side that wants to maximize the
enjoyment of life.  The smoke itself is a gorgeous apparition, a most
arousing sight.

It fascinates me that she smokes, and that fascination is the reason I
choose to tell that side of the story.  She is a wonderful smoker to
watch, with a fresh and confident style, and a clear enjoyment of her
habit.  I love her for many reasons of which smoking is not one of
them.  But smoking is something that I love about her, and as the
storyteller I would like to examine that aspect in a close and intimate
fashion.

The style of the story should become clear enough as you listen to it.
I will take all of the salient points of our relationship, and put them
forward for you to consider.  At the same time, I will deeply explore
my smoking fetish, so that you may gain a feeling as to what it must be
like to experience this fetish.  The sights, sounds, and scents
involved are really very erotic in the most primitive fashion.  But
never forget the important thing, that this story is about the woman I
fell in love with. It is told in tribute to her, more than anything
else.

But enough of the introduction.  The only thing that is important at
this point is the story of what happened between myself and the only
woman I've ever really loved.

*****

The first time I saw her, it was not love at first sight.  Let's face
it; an overused catch phrase like that one just doesn't do any justice
to the real world.  In the real world, you simply notice things that
catch your eye.  The blond girl caught my eye, not because she was
beautiful, but because she stood out from the crowd, like a lioness
from the rest of the pride.  I was very young at the time, only 16.
She was 18, and though we went to the same high school, we didn't know
each other at all.  At that point in time, girls were one of two
things:  someone easy to be friends with, or someone to make out with.
A girl could never be both, according to my typical adolescent
mindset.  This girl was a stranger to me; someone I had never seen
before but who caught my eye like an old, familiar friend.  That's not
love at first sight.  It's intrigue.

It was a warm summer day, with a mild summer breeze.  Dave and I were
taking a break from our basketball game as the blue Firebird pulled up
the side street and into his driveway.  The face was the first thing I
noticed.  As her car drove past us, I saw the blond hair and the blue
eyes; she looked very clean-cut.  I wanted to see more.  I waited for
her to open the door and get out.

Dave noticed my stare.  "That's Ken's sister", he said.  "She's
probably here to see my sister."

I wanted to know something about her; anything.  "Is she pretty cool?",
was all I could come up with.

"Yeah, I've talked to her a little bit.  She's a pretty cool chick."

The car door opened, and she got out.  She was wearing jean shorts and
a tucked-in white tank top.  Her figure was very becoming.  As she shut
the door, I noticed that she was holding a cigarette in her left hand,
and most of it was gone.  She walked up the path to the front door, and
the smoke wisped from the end of her cigarette to be captured by the
light breeze.  My initial thought was, "Magnificent."  Now, I'm a
complete non-smoker, although all of my friends and most of my family
smokes.  I had tried it a couple of times and just didn't get the taste
for it.  Sometimes it even irritated me to be around smokers.

But from a distance, that little smoking stub with the orange filter
looked dazzling between her fingers.  She walked with her hands
swinging lightly on both sides, and her cigarette was held straight out
from between two fingers in a casual manner.  It looked like a part of
her, as if it belonged there.  She was walking away from us halfway up
the path when she brought her left hand to her face.  The trail of
smoke halted for several seconds, and then a huge cloud of smoke
swirled all around her head as she walked through her exhale.  The
breeze whipped it slowly through the air, creating sensuous figures and
patterns.  She smoked as if it were a natural part of her, and I
imagined that she really enjoyed doing it.  For some reason, this
thrilled me, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Dave's sister answered the door, and the beautiful blond girl stepped
inside, a trail of smoke following her hand.

"She's a total babe, huh?", Dave remarked.

"No shit", I responded with all the wisdom of a 16 year old in the
throes of puberty.
 We both spoke with an awe that all but forbade us from even thinking
 about asking her out.

A few minutes later, the door opened and the two girls walked outside,
happily chatting as 18 year old girls do.  She was no longer smoking a
cigarette, and I found myself wishing she was.  Still, watching her
walk toward us provided a different kind of thrill.  Her tank top was
loose, but still showed her form extremely well.  She had a sexy walk,
a confident walk.  It was a mild sexuality though, not the "come and
get me" body language of the girls who wanted it.  Her jean shorts were
tight fitting, and her firm legs were smooth, her buttocks solid.  She
had an attractive hourglass shape; she walked with poise and dignity,
but not in an aloof manner.  She had it all, from the physical
perspective.

To my surprise, she looked directly at me.  Sweating inside, I smiled
mildly.  She smiled back with a friendly grin, and then turned back to
her companion and resumed their conversation.  I continued to watch
her, all the way to the car.

Dave said, "I think she's going out with this guy; they've been going
out for a while.
 He's a friend of my sister's boyfriend.  She's so cool.  I wish I
 could be in her boyfriend's shoes for a change."

I said nothing as the girls turned toward the car, and vulgarity aside,
I must tell the truth:  I couldn't take my eyes off that fine ass of
hers.  16 year olds, as you know, are kind of charming that way.

The two girls said good-bye, and the blond girl got into her car and
pulled out of the driveway.  I watched as she pulled past us, but the
driver's side of the car was on the opposite side from us, and we were
sitting down.  I watched the car drive slowly up the side street, and
when it was about twenty feet away, a large cloud of smoke rode slowly
over the roof of the passing car.  It swirled in the air and drifted
slowly in our direction.  I watched the car travel all the way up the
200 foot side street, and saw three more clouds of smoke escape from
the driver's side.  And as she pulled off the side street onto the main
road, a faint fragrance reached my nose.  Heavily diluted in the
breeze, it smelled sweetly bitter, and it made me feel warm.  It wasn't
just cigarette smoke, it was her cigarette smoke.  She'd had this smoke
inside of her, and she apparently enjoyed having smoke inside of her.
She was someone who had chosen to smoke, and she clearly chose to do it
on a regular basis.  It smelled sweet, because I thought that it must
be a part of her.  If I was to spy her through a typical day, I would
see how much smoking is a part of her life.  It would always be around
her; the smell of smoke would always follow her.  It would be a natural
behavior in her hands.  Though I was a little confused with this new
fascination, I was also enthralled with the prospect of a beautiful
woman who had chosen to be a smoker.  This beautiful woman; she was a
smoker, and her smoking display was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.
I wondered what it would be like to sit next to her while she was
smoking; what would her breath smell like and what kind of cigarettes
would she be smoking?

She was gone, and I turned to Dave to ask him, "What's her name?"

"Ashley."

*****

I didn't see Ashley again for three years.

*****

The next time I saw her, I was a little older and a little wiser.  She
was at Fred's party, wearing a pretty red sweater and a long, black
leather skirt.  She exuded class.  Ken was at the party, and I when I
first saw her, I knew I was going to ask him to introduce us.  She was
holding a glass of wine in one hand, and a pack of cigarettes in the
other.  I watched her hand carefully so I could see what brand she
smoked; they were Marlboro 100s.  This was good, as I liked the long
cigarettes.  During the three years prior, I had developed a strong
fetish for female smokers.  I loved to watch an attractive female smoke
a cigarette, though I still had never dated a smoker.  I harbored
doubts about it, and assumed that no matter how sexy it looked, it was
probably disgusting in practice.  Whenever I had smelled smoker's
breath from one of my friends or family, it repulsed me, and I couldn't
imagine overcoming that even with my fetish.  Still, I had always
disliked the smell of cigarette smoke before the fetish, and now I
thought there was no sweeter smell in the presence of an attractive
girl.

The party rocked on, and though I kept my eye on her, I didn't approach
her.  More often than not, she had a cigarette between her fingers and
a cloud of smoke surrounding her.  She smoked with great style, with a
refined grace that seemed characteristic and fitting.  When she was
smoking, the cigarette became a piece of her body; a natural extension
of her anatomy.  Her inhales were deep, her exhales were long and
silky.

After a while, I wondered if she was with someone.  It was a relatively
small party, with our "regular" group of 25 friends or so.  Fred's
house was our regular hang-out spot; it was perennially open house and
on the weekends a fairly large gathering was not uncommon.  But as I
looked around, I couldn't spot anyone that she might be with.
 I went over to talk to Ken.

He was draining a beer and playing quarters.  "Hey, Ken", I said.  "Is
that your sister over there?"

He finished his beer and popped open another one.  "Yeah, her car broke
down and she didn't have nothin' to do, so I brought her over.  I think
she's having a good time...."  He trailed off and belched loudly.

"Uh huh", I mumbled.  So, she'd come with her brother; this was good
news.  The bad news was that most of the people here were other guys,
and I couldn't tell if any of them were hitting her up or not.  She'd
been hanging out with different people all night, but didn't appear to
be getting close to any one of them.

At one point, we started playing a drinking game called
President/Asshole, a card game.  There were six people playing,
including Ashley, and they wanted a seventh.  I've gotta hand it to
Dave; he really knows the right thing to do at the right time.

"Hey", he yelled at me, "come on over and play.  We need someone else,
to be the asshole!"

I happily obliged to begin the game as the asshole, and the game went
very well.  Everyone at the table was chatty and having a good time,
and I got to exchange words with Ashley a few times.  Just friendly
bantering, nothing personal, but it was nice.
 She was gorgeous, but also unpretentious.  She seemed to be unaware of
 her good looks, and carried herself with a casual assurance that was
becoming.  Her face was bright with friendliness, and her smile melted
my heart.  She smoked several cigarettes during the game, and I just
couldn't get enough of glancing at her while she exhaled thick, creamy
streams of smoke from between those luscious lips.  She had all the
mannerisms of the practiced smoker, and there was no awkwardness about
it even though both hands had three things to occupy them:  her hand of
cards, her glass of wine, and her cigarette.  She was a pro at
combining all three at once.  Mostly, she exhaled slowly from her
mouth.  But she also liked to talk with smoke puffing in sporadic
clouds from her mouth and nose, and often exhaled from her nose,
sometimes combining a nose exhale with a mouth exhale.  That last part
was my favorite, as two thick jets of smoke would meet and form one
thick cloud.  Sometimes, when she was playing a hand, she would simply
put her burning cigarette between her lips and hold it firmly in her
mouth, inhaling and exhaling the whole time.  She apparently knew some
tricks, too, as I saw her do a couple of brief French inhales.  She was
the most proper looking smoker I had ever seen.  She looked very
clean-cut and decent, and you'd never guess she was a smoker if you
didn't see her smoking.  But once you did see her smoking, you couldn't
imagine her any other way.  She looked very sensuous with a burning
cigarette between her fingers or lips, and though everyone else besides
me was smoking as well, she was sitting directly across from me and I'm
sure it was mostly her smoke I was smelling.  It was delicious.

It was her turn, and she needed to beat three eights.  She took a last
drag of her cigarette, down to the filter, and stubbed it out while
exhaling a thick cloud of smoke from her mouth and nose.  The cloud
drifted directly toward me, perhaps in payback because I was
responsible for the three eights; she was grinning cleverly.  As the
cloud surrounded me, she looked in my direction, and our eyes met.  She
laid down three cards with a smile, and I looked down to see three
tens.

In her most faux-pleasant sounding voice, she said, "One card left."

She got to be president the next round, and I drank several times under
her command for my indiscretions.

*****

It was 3:30 in the morning, and the party had all but broken up.  The
only people left besides myself were Fred, Dave, Ken, and Ashley.
Dave, Ashley and I were engaged in a lengthy conversation on the merits
of the rock band Rush.  Fred was cleaning up, and Ken was passing out.
Ashley was easy to get along with, easy to like.  Her manner was casual
and friendly, and we talked liked old acquaintances.  We had much in
common, having gone to the same school and generally knowing many of
the same people.  She was smoking less often now, and as she lit up a
new cigarette, she remarked that she had smoked too much tonight.

I couldn't resist the opportunity.  "How much do you usually smoke?", I
queried.

Her burning cigarette dangled from between her lips.  "Usually just a
pack a day, but I'm most of the way through my second pack", she said,
shaking the mostly empty pack in her hand.  She took a deep drag and
removed the cigarette from her lips between two fingers.  A thick ball
of smoke hung in front of her slightly open mouth, then disappeared as
she drew it up through her nostrils and deeply inhaled the mouthful of
smoke.  Her chest rose as she drew in breath, and I lustily wondered
what her seemingly ample breasts looked like.

 "Do you smoke?", she asked me.  "Does the smoke bother you?"  She
 coyly puffed clouds of smoke from her mouth and nose as she spoke, and
finished speaking with a long, thick exhale from her nose.

"No, I don't smoke, but it doesn't bother me at all", I replied.  "I've
been around smokers all my life, and I hardly even notice it."

Dave piped in, "Yeah, we never could get him into it", and lit a
cigarette himself.

"So you never have done it yourself, huh?  Good for you; it's bad for
your health." She smiled and drew deeply on her cigarette.

"Nope."  I gathered up my nerve.  "How did you get started?"

She was blowing smoke rings, and she finished with a long exhale.
"Well, it's kind of funny that I smoke, really.  Not too many of my
friends do, and my parents don't smoke at all."  She raised her
eyebrows slightly and examined the cigarette she was holding.
 "I actually learned to smoke on a trip to Vancouver with my friend
 Katie.  She always smoked, and I tried it when we were out one night.
I just kind of picked it up." With a shrug, she brought her cigarette
to her lips again.

"Do your parents know about it?"

"Yes, I told them shortly after I started.  They're pretty accepting.
My mom and dad used to smoke a lot, but they quit a long time ago.
They're ok with it; they let me smoke in the house and all that."

She was sitting comfortably on the couch with her legs crossed.  Her
leather skirt came just below her knees, but fit her form very nicely,
showing off her hips.  Her red sweater made a smashing combination with
her clean, blond hair.  One arm was crossed over her bosom, and she
rested the elbow of her other arm on it, holding her cigarette in
between two fingers near her face.  She looked extraordinary.

Ken groaned from behind me, and Ashley shook her head slightly at me, a
knowing grin on her face.  "I think I better get us home", she said.
"He's gonna be one happy camper in the morning, if he's lucky enough to
make it to the bathroom in time."

Well, my luck was strong tonight, and just because it was 3:30 in the
morning didn't mean it was going to stop here.  As we turned to look at
Ken, it was clear that he was in no shape to drive.  Ashley said, "Ken,
where are your keys?  It looks like I'm the designated driver, you
drunk."

Ken looked at us blearily, shaking his head and mumbling.  "It's a
stick", he struggled.  "You don't know how to drive a stick."

Ashley rolled her head and looked at me.  "Do you know how to drive a
stick?"

I smiled.  The Gods were with me.

*****

We packed Ken into the back seat, where he promptly passed out with his
tongue hanging out of his mouth.  A lovely sight indeed.  They lived
about twenty minutes away, so Ashley and I decided to leave his car at
Fred's and take mine instead; I had to get home myself, after all.  The
night was clear and dark, the stars pinpoints on black canvas.  Early
morning be damned, Ashley looked better than ever.  Stunning in her red
sweater and black leather skirt, this was nothing compared to when she
put on her black leather jacket and black leather gloves.  Apparently
she liked black leather.  It wasn't biker style or slutty, though; it
was very classy and tasteful attire.  She smelled wonderful sitting
next to me in the car; sweet but light perfume, the heavy scent of
leather, and the slight scent of cigarette smoke.  I wondered if she
would want to smoke in my car.

I didn't have to wonder for long.  "Would you mind if I smoked in your
car?", she asked politely.

"Not at all", I replied.  This coming from a guy who had never let
anyone smoke in his car.

"Are you sure?", she pressed.  "I mean, you don't smoke or anything.
You're nice to say it doesn't bother you, but I don't mind not
smoking....."  She trailed off for my response, and I found myself
suspecting she was driving at more than this.

"I'm sure", I said.  "You can smoke whenever, wherever you want to
around me."

"Thanks", she said, pulling her pack of cigarettes from her purse.  She
took one out between gloved fingers, and I watched her carefully from
the corner of my eye.  Putting the filter in between her lips, she dug
for her lighter and came up with it after a few seconds.  She waited
until we came to a stop sign, and then held the lighter toward me and
asked, "Would you light my cigarette for me?  I don't want to flick a
lighter with my gloves on; they were kind of expensive."  Her cigarette
dangled from her lips as she spoke, and I could see fresh lipstick
already rubbing off on the end of the orange filter.  At this moment,
she had my undivided attention.

I took the lighter from her, and brought it to life at the end of her
cigarette.  She leaned in toward the flickering flame, and her face lit
up in a warm glow.  I noticed her smooth, porcelain skin; her perfect
complexion.  The end of her cigarette was a glowing red ember as her
cheeks hollowed in slightly with her drag.  I clicked the lighter off,
and the red ember illuminated her face in a soft crimson glow.  She
finished her drag, and took the cigarette out of her mouth between two
leather clad fingers.  Her chest rose as she inhaled deeply, the
leather jacket creaking slightly as leather will.  I gave her back the
lighter, and she took it with one gloved hand, exhaling an enormous
stream of smoke that seemed to go on forever, filling the interior of
the car in seconds.  The smoke was bathed in the soft glow of the
streetlights, and I could see every pattern; every shape of this most
sensuous cloud.

"It looks cool, doesn't it?"  She had noticed my fascination.

I couldn't think what to say.  I managed, "Actually, yes it does."  I
began driving again.

She cracked the window slightly, and said, "You like to watch people
smoke, don't you?"

I decided to be brave.  "No, actually, I only like to watch pretty
girls smoke", I said in a half joking manner.

She laughed at this and said, "It's ok.  I once dated a guy who really
dug chicks who smoked.  Actually, that was the only reason he wanted to
go out with me, so you can imagine he wasn't much of a date."  She
laughed again.

"Don't worry", I said sarcastically.  "I can think of a few more
reasons than that to like you."

"Thanks.  At least you're cooler than most non-smokers; if you do mind
it, you do an awful good job of acting."

I watched her smoke her cigarette all the way to Ken's house.  She
didn't live with her parents anymore, so after we dumped Ken into bed,
I took her to her apartment building.  She had lit a second cigarette,
and was halfway through it when we pulled into the small complex she
lived in.

I parked the car and looked at her, smoke streaming from her lips.
"Can I walk you up?"

She finished exhaling and said, "Sure, I'd like that."  She pondered
for a second, then said, "I hope you don't think I'm rude for not
inviting you in for a nightcap."

"It's late", I replied.  "Don't worry about it."

I walked with her through the parking lot, and behind her up the stairs
to her apartment.  The steady stream of smoke from her cigarette hit me
right in the face, and I enjoyed every second of it.  Her cigarette was
a small stub by now, and the orange filter looked marvelous between her
leather covered fingers.  The air was heavy with the smell of leather
and smoke, which made for a heady combination indeed.

We reached her door, and she held her cigarette between her lips as she
dug for her keys.  Puffing slowly but continuously, she found them and
unlocked her front door.  She took a large drag and then removed the
cigarette from her mouth.  A stream of smoke escaped out the end of the
filter, the burning ember very close to the end.  The tip of the filter
was dark with lipstick, and she held her cigarette up in the air close
to her face, like a lady.

"Thanks a lot for the ride; I really appreciate it."  As she spoke,
smoke escaped heavily from her mouth and nostrils, and she reinhaled
the rest.

"No problem.  I hope we'll see you around from time to time."

Her smile was wide as she coyly exhaled a long stream of smoke from
between her wonderful lips.  "I had fun over there tonight", she said
with a soft laugh.

"It's always fun time over at Fred's; drop in anytime."

She leaned closer to me and said, "Thanks."  For the first time, I
caught the scent of her breath, and it wasn't repulsive at all.  It was
marvelous; sweet with the smell of tobacco and fresh smoke.  I was
enraptured, and couldn't speak.

"Just a minute", she said.  "Let me write down my phone number for you,
and you can give me a call the next time there's a party, ok?"  She
stepped into her apartment and disappeared down the hallway.

All I could think was how nice she was; how pretty she was.  I was
smitten with the prospect of going out with her.  And her smoking was
immaculate; for the first time I truly wanted to know what it was like
to kiss a smoker.

She came back, her cigarette gone.  She clasped my arm in one hand and
drew close to me, holding up a slip of paper.  "Here's my number; why
don't you give me a call whenever?"  Again, I could smell her sweet,
tobacco laced breath mixed with the scent of her leather clothing.  I
could have just about fainted.

I took the slip of paper, saying, "You bet.  I might even call you
tomorrow."  I was stepping into a minefield, but I had to do it.

"I'd like that."  She smiled and walked back through the doorway.
"Thanks again.  Good night, and drive careful, ok?"

"I will.  Talk to you later."

"Ok.  Good night."  She shut the door, the smile never leaving her
lovely face.

I turned and walked back to the parking lot.  Inside my car, the odor
of cigarette smoke was strong, and I looked down to notice the first
cigarette butt that had ever touched my ashtray.  I picked it up and
examined it.  The tobacco end was burned almost all the way down to the
filter; she sure enjoyed every bit of her long cigarettes.  The other
side had a dark ring of lipstick all around it, and the end of the
filter was stained a dark brown from the smoke.  It smelled bitter, and
the thought of her holding this between her fingers was enticing.

I imagined her lighting a cigarette right now, as she settled down into
her couch for one last smoke before bed.  I thought of her inhaling
thick, billowing smoke deep into her body.  And I thought of the
enormous cloud of smoke that would be streaming from her lips.

It wasn't until the next day that I realized what she had been doing
the previous night with the way she spoke to me in the car and at her
front door.  I was 19, she was 21 and beautiful, and she knew that I
was nervous.  She was trying to put me at ease, to make me feel
comfortable with how I felt about her.  She was the nicest person I had
ever met.

*****

Over the course of the next week, Ashley and I came to know each other
fairly well.  Why didn't I ask her out right away?  I'm not sure; I
think for a lot of reasons.  Mostly, I didn't want to rush things in
any way; we clicked fine as friends at first, and I wanted to let that
develop.  I learned a great deal about her during that week.
 She loved to listen to music, either top forty dance music or classic
 hard rock.  She was a huge fan of Rush and Yes, as well as Janet
Jackson.  She played the piano, too, and quite well; mostly classical
music.  She loved to garden, and had knowledge to spare on flowers and
the like.  She worked out every day, lifting light weights and riding
the stationary bicycle to keep herself conditioned; it showed.  Her
5'7" frame was toned, but amply endowed in all the important areas.
She didn't do any drugs and rarely drank; smoking was her only vice.
Getting to know her in this fashion was a great deal of fun, and our
conversations lasted long into the night.  It wasn't long, though,
until I thought it was the right time to ask her out on a date, a
proposal that she readily accepted.

I knocked on her front door promptly at six, knowing that if she was
like most women, she wouldn't be quite ready yet.  I heard a yell from
inside, "Come in!"  I opened the door and entered, and she spoke up
from the back of her apartment somewhere.  "I'm sorry, I'm not quite
done getting ready.  Have a seat; I'll be out in a few minutes.  You
can grab a Coke from the fridge if you want."

"Thanks", I said, and did just that.  I sat down on the living room
couch and observed the living room.  The room was nicely decorated,
with lots of plants and knickknacks.
 It smelled clean and felt warm.  Directly in front of me was the
 coffee table, with an ashtray on one side.  I leaned over to look
closely at it.  It had 23 cigarette butts in it, lipstick rings around
several of them.  They were smoked down to the filter and sitting in a
large pile of tobacco ash.

I heard the click of a light switch and the shutting of a door, and
Ashley strode down the hallway toward me with a smile on her face.
Somehow, she managed to look casual and glamorous at the same time.
She was wearing a shapely red cotton dress that showed off her petite
but full figure.  Her hair was pulled up and twisted around her head in
the way that only beautiful girls can do, spilling out in a long
ponytail with wisps of hair tickling her cheeks and neck.  Yet her
makeup was plain and her accessories minimal.  She looked dazzling, but
not superficial.  A half smoked cigarette was burning in her right
hand.

"Hi!  How's it going?"  She walked close to me as I stood to greet
her.

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