Dear Sweet Susie

Dear Sweet Susie
By Falling Ashes

I watch Susie as she takes a drag.  Not just any drag, but a deep,
lung-searing inhale, followed by a long double, then triple-inhale.  I make a
joke, and she laughs, expelling a huge cloud of billowing smoke from both her
mouth and nostrils.  She starts to cough, still laughing, clears her throat,
and spits into the sink.  She puts the now filter-length Marlboro 100 with the
inch-long cherry back into her mouth, still exhaling, and extracts a new
cigarette from her almost-empty pack.  In a rapid movement, she quickly
inhales, puts the new cigarette in her mouth and lights it with the previous
one.  She inhales and, with her left hand, removes the new one.  She sucks on
the misshapen filter of the old one, throws it in the toilet, then tilts her
head back and exhales the smoke from the combined cigarettes.  The just-lit
Marlboro goes in the corner of her mouth, where it will remain, as she
finishes putting on her makeup.  This is typical behavior on this fine morning
at 7:30 am, and yes, that pack was opened when she woke up.

Ahh, Susie.  With the blonde bob cut, D-cup breasts, and the cutest slightly
plump ass I have ever seen.  Susie, who is 32, but looks 19.  That is, except
for the obvious effects of smoking heavily for twenty years.  People have
different ideas of what constitutes heavy smoking.  For some, it is a pack.
For others, two packs.  Susie has been smoking five packs a day of Marlboro
100's since she was 18.  That's right, fourteen years.  Over 25,000 packs, or
500,000 cigarettes, in fourteen years.  That's a lot of Marlboro Miles.  In
her case, this is actually a learned behavior.  Her father, the CEO of a major
corporation, is also a five-pack-a-day puffer.  Imagine that dinner table.  As
long a I have known Susie (4 years, living with her for the last 2), I have
never seen her without a cigarette, with the possible exception of sleeping.
Even then, she will wake up at various points during the night to smoke.  I
can practically set my watch to it.

She is basically a human chimney.  I fire her up in the morning, and off she
goes.  No need for the Zippo anymore.  Even if for some reason a cigarette is
out of her mouth for a couple of minutes, there is still a constant stream of
smoke from her mouth and nostrils.  I sometimes wonder if she decided to skip
a couple of cigarettes, would the smoke still flow?  I would venture to guess
yes.  Smoke is embedded in her skin, deep into her cells, and of course, her
lungs.  Every breath, every sentence, and yes, every cough is punctuated by
residual exhales of pungent smoke.  And yet, it is like she was born for this.
Aside from the grayish pallor of her skin, the lines framing her mouth, the
yellow teeth and nostrils, and the occasional coughing, it doesn't really seem
to affect her breathing.  Of course she snores at night, but she is rarely
winded or out-of-breath, even during sex (her main, possibly only, athletic
activity).  In fact, it seems to affect me, a non-smoker, more than her.

While I am talking about the effects, though, I suppose I should bring up the
morning wake-up.  The first time I slept with her overnight, the next morning,
I could have sworn she was dying.  Every day, it starts when she is sleeping.
At 6:00am, a huge, rumbling cough jolts her awake.  The first thing she
reaches for, of course, is her pack of cigarettes.  The coughs are loud,
desperate gasps for air, her fried lungs trying to expel the poisons inflicted
on them since she was twelve.  I swear that with that first cough, without
even having had a cigarette for at least four hours, smoke comes out.  After
the earth-shattering wake up cough, she has just enough time to light the
first cigarette of the day.  She puffs like smoke is her life source, while
coughing copiously.  Each cigarette during this daily coughing ritual is
smoked like it's her last one.  Direct-lung inhales, double, triple, even
quadruple pumps.  The first one remains in her mouth.  She has mastered
coughing and dangling at the same time.  She doesn't pause to ash, but simply
lets them fall on her bosom.  The pulls are so deep and rapid-fire that I
wonder how her lips remain unburned.  When one burns down to the filter, it is
quickly replaced by a new one.  After about five cigarettes are sucked down,
the coughing begins to wane.  When it completely stops, she finishes the
remains of a cigarette, lights a new one from the previous butt, and gets up
to hit the bathroom.  She does her business, all the while chain-smoking,
still at the same furious pace, then hops into the shower.  You better believe
there is an ashtray in there, and she has become quite an expert at keeping
the four-or-so cigarettes she smokes in the shower dry.  She hops out,
Marlboro dangling, and proceeds to dry off.  Once dry, it is usually time for
a fresh smoke.  She puts the new one in the ashtray by the sink and begins
brushing her teeth, occasionally pausing to take a deep, satisfying drag.  I
don't know if you've ever seen someone do a nostril exhale while brushing
their teeth, but I assure you, it is quite comical.  

So this brings us almost to where I began.  After her first pack is finished,
she doesn't keep up this furious pace throughout the day.  She does light each
cigarette with the butt of the previous one, but she smokes in a much more
relaxed manner.  The puffs are leisurely, and there is little to no dangling
(except when necessary).  When she is stressed, though, it is back to the
early morning-style feeding frenzy, and, I must say that five packs a day is a
level that is easy to surpass for her.  Perhaps one day I will tell you about
it, though for now, the story is done.  Until then, I thank you for reading
about my dear, sweet Susie.