Gretchen: Chain-Smoking Goddess

(by HagenMrk@aol.com, 02 February 2000)


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Gretchen: Chain-Smoking Goddess
hagenmar@martin.luther.edu

The following tale is a fantasy based on the Gretchen character from my
previous story, "The Teenage Girl Smokers Convention."  E-mail me if you
have any feedpack for me.  Hope you enjoy it.



It was 2:29 and my English Lit class was about to begin.  Just before the
clock strikes 2:30, in walks Gretchen Paulson.  Wearing sunglasses, a
skimpy white T-shirt, and a pair of cutoff jeans (her staple outfit),
Gretchen struts into the room, fully aware that every male eye in the room
is focused on her beautiful body.  There's an open seat to the right of me,
and I pray she'll sit next to me.  I try not to stare at her for more than
an instant, but she flashes me a friendly smile and I smile back.  She eyes
the desk next to mine and approaches.  The smell of smoke becomes stronger
with each step she takes until she sits down within only a couple feet of
me.  My heartbeat picks up and the smoky aura suurounding Gretchen spreads
my way, and I savor every breath.  Through the corner of my right eye, I
watch Gretchen twirl her gorgeous natural blond hair between her fingers
and cross her smooth, tan legs.  As class starts, I have to try hard to
focus on the lecture and not focus on the beauty sitting next to me.

The lecture continues and, at about 2:50, I notice Gretchen becoming very
fidgety beside me.  She begins to restlessly tap her pencil and constantly
look up to the clock.  After a few moments, she gets up and steps out of
the room as she does nearly every day halfway through class.  I wait
patiently for about seven minutes before Gretchen quietly slips back into
the classroom, smelling of fresh smoke and arousing my sense of smell once
again.  I sit through the rest of lecture with Gretchen's comfortable
presence only a couple feet away.  Finally, the professor hands out a list
of pairs he's arranged to work on a group project together.  I couldn't
believe as I see my name next to Gretchen's on the list.  It's difficult
for me to contain my joy as I look at Gretchen.

"Looks like we're partners," I offer casually.

Gretchen grins and speaks to me in her husky, yet feminine voice.  "Do you
want to get together and start on it tonight?"

"Sure.  How about the library tonight at 7:30?"

"That'll work.  See you then," Gretchen smiles again, before racing for the
door as she did every day at the end of class.  I follow her out the door
to watch her perform her daily routine that turned me on so completely.
She lets a Marlboro 100 dangle from her lips as she approaches the exit
door.  The second she steps outside, she flicks her lighter and ignites her
cigarette.  A cloud of smoke soon surrounds Gretchen as she inhales deeply
and frequently on her fresh cigarette, obviously getting maximum enjoyment
from the addictive nicotine in her lungs.  I can never recall seeing
Gretchen outside of the classroom not smoking one of her Marlboro 100's.
She walks down the sidewalk towards her dorm building as I watch casually
before turning the opposite direction.  I can't take my eyes off of her
sexy strut and her incredible body, and am able to see one more monstrous
exhale that floats several feet in front of Gretchen.  Unfortunately, I
have to turn away and go to my next class, but our paths were destined to
cross again.  I couldn't wait for 7:30 to come.

I arrive at the library ten minutes early in anticipation, waiting for
Gretchen to arrive.  I watch the library entryway, and at 7:32, I see
Gretchen's unmistakable body approach the glass library doors.  She takes a
final drag off her cigarette before squashing it in the ashtray by the
door.  She enters the library and smiles as she sees me waiting for her.  I
smile back and, as always, am instantly aroused by the strong smell of
smoke on her, engulfing my nose as she sits next to me.  We properly
introduce each other and engage in a couple of minutes of friendly small
talk before getting started on our project, checking the library computer
for relevant sources.  About five minutes go by as we write down Dewey
decimal numbers for the books we're gonna look for.  I notice Gretchen
becoming restless and fidgety again, but try to ignore it.  In less than a
minute, she can't take it anymore.

"If it's okay, I'm gonna go out for a smoke."

"Yeah, go ahead.  Most of these books are downstairs.  I'll meet you down
there."

Gretchen nods agreeably and I watch her walk away out of the corner of my
eye.  In seconds, she's outside and lighting another Marlboro 100.  I head
to the library basement and begin to search for the books, finding them and
looking them over with a half a mind, unable to get Gretchen's smoking too
far from my conscious.  Within a few minutes, Gretchen locates me and, as
always, she smells of fresh cigarette smoke.

"Finding anything?" she asks.

"Yeah, I got these three here that look like they'll work.  Why don't you
check these over here."

Gretchen crouches down and begins to look at the books on the shelf.  Her
perfect legs are positioned only inches from my left hand as I pretend to
focus on the books.  Within about ten minutes, we find the five books we
need for sources and I notice Gretchen becoming anxious again, craving
another dose of nicotine.  As we get up to leave, she smiles mishievously
at me.

"You're gonna think I'm a total slacker, but I need another cigarette."

I smile.  "I'll tell you what.  I'll go upstairs and check these out, and
then we can go and do our project in one of our dormrooms where you can
smoke."

Gretchen smiles back invitingly.  "Sounds great.  Thanks for understanding."

Gretchen walks ahead of me, allowing me to have a close-up view of her
sexually-charged walk from behind, and I focused on her firm ass.  My heart
begins to pound as we go back upstairs.  I head to the checkout desk while
Gretchen goes outside and lights up another cigarette.  In a couple of
moments, I exit the library to find Gretchen standing there, smoking her
cigarette.

"Could we go to my room?" she asks.

"Sure, whatever," I respond, hiding my enthusiasm at the thought of being
in Gretchen's room.  This entire evening had been magical thus far, and the
night was still young.  As we walk back to her room, we engage in more
small talk about our current class schedules, a conversation I'm only half
listening to.  I'm much more interested in watching Gretchen's sexy,
experienced smoking style from close-up, breathing the second-hand smoke
that had been in her lungs only seconds ago.  We continue to chat until we
arrive at her dorm building.  She extinguishes her cigarette in an overfull
ashtray outside of the building before entering.  I follow her as she
ascends two flights of stairs to get to her floor.  I notice her breathing
becoming more labored with every step she takes until she is wheezing
loudly at the top.  She quickly pulls out her pack of Marlboro 100's and
inserts a fresh one in her mouth after leaving the stairwell, still
breathing laborously.  She lets the unlit cigarette dangle between her lips
as she walks down her dorm hallway.  She unlocks her door and enters the
room.  I follow her in and she wastes no time lighting her cigarette.  I
close the door and she turns to me while exhaling beautiful streams of
smoke out of both nostrils.

"My roommate works tonight, so we shouldn't be disturbed."

"Okay," I say nodding, almost knocked over by the smell of burnt tobacco
that overwhelms the room.  I notice three ashtrays in the room, all either
full or close to full.  I see a pack of Marlboro Lights on the desk of
Gretchen's roommate as well as another ashtray full of white butts, and I
determine that the roommate is a smoker as well.  Gretchen sits down on her
bed and spreads the books out in front of her.

"Have a seat," she mumbles with a cigarette between her lips, pointing for
me to sit on the other side of the books on her bed.  My already pounding
heart was intensifying further.  I was gonna get the chance to sit on
Gretchen's bed and watch her smoke for half the night.

We made some progress on the project in the next hour and a half and both
of us contributed equally, but I was frequently distracted by Gretchen's
never-ending smoking habit.  She had smoked ten cigarettes in the hour and
a half, one after another with dizzying repetition.  Usually, she would
light a fresh cigarette with the butt of the one she was currently smoking.
 The other times, she would crush her cigarette in the ashtray on the
floor, reach for her pack, pull out another Marlboro 100, and light it up
within ten seconds after pulling out the last.  Half of the time, she let
the cigarette dangle between her lips, puffing down on the cigarette
without removing it from her mouth.  The rest of the time, she would hold
her cigarette sexily between her fingers in the most feminine way.  Smoke
emitted from her mouth and nose with every breath she took, even between
drags on her cigarette.  She was a human chimney.  Smoke filled the room
and began to irritate my eyes.  I remained silent and was surprised that
Gretchen didn't inquire if her smoking was bothering me.

After finishing another cigarette, Gretchen tosses the empty Marlboro 100
pack  into her trash can, which was almost exclusively filled with empty
packs of cigarettes, cigarette butts, and tobacco ash.  She then walks over
to her desk and pulls out a fairly large cigar wrapped in cellophane.  She
unwraps the cellophane and inserts the inexpensive cigar into her mouth.  I
can't help but stare as Gretchen holds her lighter up to the cigar for
several moments.  She then sits back on the bed with the lit cigar between
her lips as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  She inhales a
drag on the cigar that is as deep as her usual cigarette inhale.  I stare
at her uncontrollably as a stream of thick, rich cigar smoke pours out of
her mouth and nose towards me.  She then smiles at me as I try to pretend
that I wasn't watching her.

"You're staring at me," she says flirtatiously.

"Oh...uh...yeah, you're right.  I'm sorry.  You're very good looking," I
say while blushing.

"Thanks," she says, exhaling more cigar smoke.  "Are you uncomfortable with
a girl smoking a cigar?"

I laugh with further embarrassment.

"I don't think uncomfortable is the word--more like turned-on.  I like to
watch beautiful girls smoke.  I hope you don't think I'm weird."

Gretchen laughs and inhales another chest-heaving drag off the cigar, her
large breasts rising upwards and lifting her T-shirt with it, revealing
more of her perfectly flat stomach.

"Not at all, Mark.  I've went out with many guys who are turned on by my
smoking.  I think most guys are into it at least a little, but you're one
of the first I've heard admit it.  It really works out for me because I
love smoking.  I'm totally addicted and have no intention of ever quitting.
 I don't care if I die a slow painful death when I'm 80.  I love it."

"Yeah, I can tell you love it."

She laughs again, drawing heavily on the cigar.

"I started at age twelve and fell in love with it immediately.  Guess how
much I smoke per day?"

"How much?"

"I average four-and-a-half packs a day since I started college this fall."

My jaw drops in amazement and Gretchen laughs proudly.

"That can't be cheap."

"No, it isn't.  Luckily, my parents are loaded.  Well, I won't get into my
boring life story."

"No, actually I'd love to hear it--especially the smoking part.  We can do
this homework stuff some other time."

Gretchen laughs as she inhales another large drag off of her cigar and the
cloud of cigar smoke encircles her face.

"If you insist.  As I said, I started smoking at age twelve because I was
tired of being the good girl from the good family.  My dad owns a company
in Minneapolis, so the money gave me a reputation that I wanted to shake up
a bit.  Both of my parents are non-smokers and when they found out that I
had started, they threw a fit--completely forbidding me to ever smoke
again.  But it took them a year to find out, and by then, I was already
hooked and was not gonna quit.  I told them I wanted them to pay for my
cigarettes, and if they didn't, I'd just steal them."

I smile as Gretchen pauses to take back-to-back drags on her cigar.

"Anyway, I started to rip off cigarettes and got caught twice.  My parents
first tried to punish me, but could tell that they weren't gonna get me to
quit.  Finally, they decided to pay for my smokes.  Once that happened, I
started to smoke all the time.  I was up to a pack a day by the eighth
grade.  All through my junior high and high school years, I ran outside
between every class for a quick smoke.  Of course, I still do that in the
middle of classes here at college as you've probably noticed.  Now, though,
I light up two cigarettes, one in each hand, and relentlessly suck down
both of them before rejoining class."

I nod as Gretchen puffs on the cigar and then continues.

"Anyway, I was up to two-and-a-half packs a day by my senior year, but I
still wanted to smoke more.  When I was 16, I tried cigars and loved them
as well.  I smoke one or two cigars a day, much to my parents disapproval.
They make me buy my own cigars, so all I can afford are these cheap
Grenadier Churchills.  Also, I don't know what you'll think of this, but I
used to chew while in high school classes to get my nicotine fix between
cigarettes.  Not very lady-like, so I quit after high school and just smoke
more now."

I continue to smile, feeling my already throbbing organ get stiffer and
stiffer as Gretchen draws heavily on her cigar.

"So how much does all this set your parents back?"  I ask.

"They said they spent close to $3,000 last year on my smoking.  I go
through more than three cartons a week.  Plus, I got both of younger
sisters addicted to smoking as well.  They're both in high school now and
each smokes two packs a day," she answers, her face gleaming with pride.
"But my parents can afford it.  This summer, my dad begged me to take an
office job at his company, but I told him the only way I'd do it was if he
lifted the no-smoking ban at the office.  After some arm twisting, he
agreed.  The job itself was no big deal, but most of the women were
non-smokers, so they resented me for chain-smoking and for getting special
favors.  It made me feel awkward.  Their defiance only made me smoke more,
though.  I was sucking down four packs a day by the end of the summer.  And
then, of course, once I got to college, I had no smoking restrictions
except in the classroom and nobody nagging on me--well, with the exception
of my roommate.  She's a pretty heavy smoker, too--about a pack-and-a-half
a day, but she still bitches at me every once in a while for smoking too
much, and she doesn't like my cigar smoking."

"Do you get along otherwise?"

Gretchen nods affirmatively while taking a drag on her two-thirds smoked
cigar.

"We get along okay, but we've had a couple of problems regarding my men."

"Your men?" I inquire, fully aware of Gretchen's promiscuous reputation.

She blushes as she drags on the cigar again.

"I'm sure you've heard some stories about me, right?  About what a slut I
am.  Well, when I came to college, I wanted to get in on all the lovin' I
could.  I use protection and birth control and everything, so that's not a
problem, but I'm bored with the Mr. Friday and Saturday nights.  I'm
looking for something a little more permanent now," she says, eyeing me
with the most welcoming look she's given me yet.

"Do you have anybody in particular in mind?" I ask, playing along.

Gretchen sticks what's left of her cigar in her mouth and takes both of my
hands.

"I get the feeling that you're the someone special I've been looking for.
What do you think?" she asks with the cigar clutched between her teeth, a
cloud of cigar smoke surrounding her beautiful face.

She proceeds to place my hands on her legs, the same legs I've admired
since the first time I set my eyes on them.

"I think I'm glad Professor Schultz partnered us up for this project," I
respond.

Gretchen laughs as I work my hands up her thighs as she breathes hard,
inhaling and exhaling cigar smoke with each breath.  I rest my hands over
her crotch and begin to unbutton her cutoffs.  She responds by lifting all
of the books off of her bed, and then extinguishing her cigar butt in the
ashtray.  Gretchen kneels up as I pull off her shorts, revealing her
sculpted lower body with only a pair of black panties covering it.  She
pulls my shirt off and then goes for my jeans.  I rip her T-shirt off and
begin to work at her bra.  She then stops me for a second.

"One more thing," she says, climbing out of bed to retrieve a fresh pack of
Marlboro 100's.

Gretchen quickly opens the pack and then extracts two cigarettes, getting
ready to light them simultaneously.

"Wait a second," I interrupt.  "Can I have one cigar-breath kiss first?"

Gretchen smiles and then leaps on top of me, passionately kissing me and
inserting her cigar-flavored tongue into my mouth for several moments.  The
initial unpleasantness of her breath soon gives way to the most sensual
tasting kiss I have ever experienced.  Her hair and skin have the same
aroma of the ashtray on the floor, and nothing could have turned me on
more.  I unstrap her bra as her kiss comes to an end.  She sits up over me,
and her bra falls onto me, revealing her large, beautiful breasts.  She
proceeds to light the two Marlboros before pulling off her panties.

"What about your roommate?" I inquire.

"Don't worry about her.  She's not done working for over an hour."

"I hope that gives us enough time," I say with a cocky, but sarcastic tone.

"Grrrrrrr," Gretchen replies passionately.

We proceed to have wild, passionate sex, the best I've ever had.  I can't
speak for her, especially since she was far more experienced than me, but
she sure seemed to enjoy it.  When we finish, we lie there, our hot, naked
bodies pressed together.  I listen to her very labored breathing as she
rests her head on my chest.  She leans up and grabs her pack of cigarettes,
lighting one and laying her head back on my chest.  She continues to wheeze
long after my lungs recover from the physical exertion.  Gretchen breathes
with the cigarette, inhaling and exhaling smoke with every breath until the
cigarette is more than half smoked.  I like to watch the smoke cloud rising
from my chest.

"Your turn for storytelling," Gretchen tells me, finally breaking the silence.

I proceed to tell Gretchen much of my life story as we lie there.  She
listens quietly, asking only a few questions for the next half hour.  She
chain smokes five cigarettes as we lie in her bed.  Finally, as my
storytelling comes to a close, Gretchen announces that we'd better get
dressed before her roommate gets back.  As we dress, I admire her naked
body for the final time that evening.  Once dressed, we continue to
converse about our personal lives for awhile, until the door is opened.

In steps an attractive brunette who seems startled to see me in her room.
She gives both me and Gretchen a disapproving look, believing that I was
another of Gretchen's infamous one-night stands.

"Tammy, this is Mark.  We're working on a project together for English Lit
class."

As we exchange greetings, Tammy walks over to her pack of Marlboro Lights.
She pulls one out of the pack and lights up.  As I watch Tammy take a
much-needed, long drag off of her cigarette, Gretchen breaks the silence.

"Mark actually admits that he likes to watch girls smoke."

My face grows red and I look to the floor as Tammy smiles at me, exhaling a
long stream of cigarette smoke.

"Why don't you tell the whole world while you're at," I say, looking at
Gretchen.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't realize you were so sensitive about it."

I shake my head with an embarrassed smile.

"Don't worry about it," I answer.  "Well, I'd better get going, and we
should meet again tomorrow night to finish this up, all right?"

"Yeah, Tammy's gonna be here tomorrow night, so is it all right if we meet
in your room?"

"Sure, I have a single room, so that should work out fine."

"Sounds good," Gretchen replies flirtatiously.  "Good night."

"Good night," I answer, leaving the room, but not before seeing both
Gretchen and Tammy each exhale another monstrous cloud of cigarette smoke.

The smile on my face never fades as I walk back to my dormroom, smelling as
smoky as Gretchen.  This had been the best night of my life, and with any
luck, it was only the beginning.


Indeed, it had been just the beginning.  Gretchen and I became an item and
stayed that way for over a year now.  We got to know everything about one
another, and every single time we were together, Gretchen smoked her
Marlboro 100's non-stop.  Since I had my single dormroom, Gretchen would
come by several nights a week.  We would have sex and she would often sleep
over.  As much as I loved being around Gretchen, sleeping with her proved
to be difficult.  She always makes gasping noises in her sleep, her
smoked-out lungs struggling to maintain a normal breathing rate.  Being a
light sleeper, her heavy breathing would keep me awake half the night.
Plus, she would wake up frequently in the middle of the night, and cough
her sexy smokers' cough so loudly that everybody on my floor probably woke
up. She would instantly light a cigarette seconds after waking up at any
time in the night, her nicotine-dependent body desperately craving more.  I
finally had to explain my dilemma and ask her to sleep over less
frequently.  Luckily, she said she understood and said her roommate always
complained about her noisy sleeping as well.

Gretchen and I would often travel together on the weekends, visiting each
others families and such.  Gretchen's parents were far more uptight and
conservative than she was, but they liked me since I was the one to settle
her wild ways down in their eyes.  Gretchen's sisters were just like her,
sweet and incredibly gorgeous.  They were also heavy smokers and were
thankful to Gretchen for getting them started when they only 12 and 10
years old.  My parents were very concerned about Gretchen's intense smoking
addiction, but otherwise liked her warm personality.  Indeed, her
personality was consistently friendly and sweet, except when it came to her
smoking.  Gretchen was a militant pro-smoking fanatic who would fight
relentlessly for her rights and the rights of other smokers.  She showed
utter disdain for anybody who disapproved of her smoking.  She was
sometimes embarrassing to be with, lighting up a cigarette in places where
she knew smoking wasn't permitted, and when told she couldn't smoke, she
would get in their face and chew them out until she had to be physically
removed.  She would write letters to politicians and columnists, bashing
them for advocating restrictions on smoking.  She always said that the
never-ending assault on smokers' rights could make life very difficult for
her when she needs to go out in the job market.  The number of workplaces
that allow smoking is constantly dwindling, and she knew she could not work
in a place where smoking wasn't permitted.  She also couldn't care less if
anybody was bothered by the sea of smoke surrounding her, including me.  I
never actually said anything to Gretchen when her second-hand smoke was
really becoming annoying, but she could tell it, and she simply didn't
care.  Although this was occassionally annoying to me, her militancy was
also respectable and a major turn-on for me.

As she said, Gretchen puffed down at least one Grenadier Churchill every
day, sometimes two.  Occassionally, she would splurge for a large,
expensive cigar.  Watching her smoke one of those was incredibly sexy.  On
some weekend days, when Gretchen's cigar supply ran out and when she didn't
have any classes where she couldn't smoke, she could smoke down six packs
of cigarettes in a day.  She was truly amazing.  Every aspect of her life
revolved around smoking.  She would always ask me to fill up the gas tank
when I rode in her car so that she could stay in the car and smoke.  I also
had to buy her groceries and clothes because she couldn't be away from her
cigarettes long enough to shop and remember all the things she needed.  I
felt her errand boy at times, buying her a new carton of Marlboro 100's
every two days with the money her folks gave her.  But I definitely didn't
complain too loudly.  In the event that Gretchen was separated from smoking
for a half hour or more, she would breathe almost an entire cigarette down,
inhaling and exhaling the smoke with her every breath.  Other times, she
would light up two cigarettes, holding one in each hand, and alternating
between them at a rapid pace.

When college ended that year, we had to separate for the summer, but still
met up on weekends.  Meeting Gretchen on the beach and watching her smoke
in her pink bikini made the long commute to visit her well worth it.  

The two of us can tell we have something special, and I can't help but feel
that we saved each other.  She was promiscuous and unhappy.  I was lonely
and unhappy.  Our unification solved both problems.  Although her smoking
was a superficial way for us to begin, neither of us can argue with results.


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