Kathy's Diary, Part 1

From QEWK94A@prodigy.com Wed Jan 10 18:51:57 1996
Date: Wed, 10 Jan 1996 18:42:01 EST
From: QEWK94A@prodigy.com (MR G ROZIC)
Subject: Kathy's Diary

© Aplomb Press. 1995. All Rights Reserved.

KATHY'S DIARY

(Editor's note: "Kathy's Diary" is an ongoing feature in LIT, a bi-
monthly digest for the female smoking fetishist. Kathy is a 32-year-
old nurse from Cleveland, Ohio.  A friend of a LIT staffer, she has 
agreed to write about her transition from nonsmoker to smoker. 
Although she didn't keep a formal diary on the process, we've asked 
her to reconstruct the events from memory. The following is the first 
of many installments from "Kathy's Diary".)

January 1995

What a lousy evening. I invited my friend, Pam, over to my apartment. 
Our busy schedules had limited us to brief phone conversations, so we 
thought it would be a nice idea to get together and catch up on each 
other's lives. 

Pam arrived around seven. She looked nice. Typical Pam. Those jeans 
conformed so well to her hips! It was enough to make any woman 
jealous. I liked her new hairstyle. She was getting too old for the 
"poodle pile" on top of her head. Almost 33, Pam decided to shed the 
shag in favor of a nice, conservative "page boy" style. Her auburn 
hair really brought out her green eyes. 

We sat down. Not even a minute after she took her coat off, she 
reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. It was a 
fresh pack of Marlboro 100s. Not the lights. The gold box. You only 
needed to hear her raspy voice to know that she was a true smoker. 
When we were in college, she used to smoke filterless Camels.  I 
guess it was the "cool" thing to do back then.

She initiated a familiar ritual. The orange-corked Marlboro dangled 
from her lips. Flick. She took a deep drag, and I repositioned myself 
away from the inevitable plumes of smoke to follow.

You probably think I was a militant anti-smoker. That wasn't the case.
 I didn't particularly enjoy being around someone who smoked, but I 
tolerated his or her right to light up. 

Anyway, we sat around for about an hour and enjoyed a decent 
conversation. Mostly about our jobs and love lives. The conversation 
turned from decent to sour on the latter note. Pam took exception to 
my remarks about her new boyfriend, Don, who had left his wife and 
kids to be with Pam. Trying to be a good friend, I cautioned her 
about such a man. My point: "If he did this to HER, what would 
prevent him from one day doing it to YOU?"

Pam was livid. Her face turned beet red. The tone of our conversation 
quickly escalated into a shouting match. Imagine that? Two educated 
women arguing like a couple of girls on a playground. It turned  ugly.
 Her take was: "If you are such a great judge of men and 
relationships, why did you choose that winner of an ex-husband of 
your's?"

She was right. But that wasn't the time to remind me about Jeffrey. 
We were married for five years. His vicious temper led to our end. 

Ten minutes of insults got us nowhere. Pam grabbed her coat and purse,
 and stormed out the door. I wanted to pull my hair out. My pulse 
raced and my breathing was erratic. I needed to calm down.

I looked over at the table. Pam left her cigarettes and lighter 
behind. She definitely had to be upset to forget her beloved smokes! 


I don't know what got into me. Perhaps it was the fact that I had 
been numbed by the dense cloud of smoke surrounding me. But I reached 
over and grabbed the pack of Marlboros. It seemed innocent enough. I 
toyed around with the gold box for a while. Finally, I flipped up the 
top and pulled out one of the long, orange-corked Marlboros. It was 
the first time I had even touched a cigarette. I didn't know what to 
do with it, but I knew what I wanted to do with it.

The unlit cigarette hung from my mouth for a few seconds. All of the 
tension caused from anger turned into anxiety. I wondered what the 
first puff would be like. I wondered if I should even take a puff. 

I lifted the lighter up to the cigarette's tip. Flick. The Marlboro 
was burning. I felt stupid. I waited for the smoke to enter my mouth. 
Imagine my naivete? I thought it would be automatic. Placing the 
cigarette in between my index and middle fingers, I took a small puff 
and exhaled.

To my surprise, the first puff wasn't that bad. (For one, I didn't 
make the beginner's mistake of inhaling.) I took another short puff.  
I enjoyed the taste of my Marlboro. I put the ashtray on the arm of 
the sofa, leaned back and took another drag. This time a little 
deeper. The cigarette tasted good.  I smoked about three quarters of 
the cigarette and stubbed it out. How embarrassing. I was glad that 
nobody was around. It must have taken me two minutes (and a slightly 
burned finger tip!) to put it out.

I felt an odd combination of dizziness and tranquility. As I would 
later learn, I was experiencing a nicotine rush. I kept licking the 
palette of my mouth to savor the taste of the cigarette. And I took a 
deep whiff of the smoke around me. 

I found myself very perplexed.

(Next issue: "To smoke, or not to smoke again", that is Kathy's 
question.)


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