The Kitchen Sink

(by anonymous, 21 February 1996)


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THE KITCHEN SINK

	I was fifteen years old, on the football practice field of my
junior high school.  One day during summer practice, the coach
called me over to the sideline.  

	"Don, I've noticed that your running time has gotten a little
slower lately, and you're not hitting your positions on the
plays as quickly as you once did.  Four times today, you were a
couple of steps from your mark when the ball was ready to be
thrown.  Have you been sick lately?"  I replied, "No, sir. 
Nothing's wrong."  

	"Have you been eating enough, getting enough sleep, taking care
of yourself?"  "Yes, sir", I answered, afraid of where this was
going.  He looked at his clipboard, where he had the list of my
sprinting times, weight room records, and other training stats. 
"You haven't been smoking again, have you?"  

	At this, I guess I hesitated just a little too long before
lying, "No, sir, I haven't."  His eyes narrowed into slits, and
he gave me a hard glare out of the corner of one of them.  "You
remember our conversation about that, don't you?"  

	Did I ever!  He had caught me sneaking a smoke in the woods
behind the field one day after practice.  He had given me a long
lecture about how it would get my wind, decrease my stamina, and
otherwise affect my long-term health.  "If this ever happens
again, I'll be looking for another running back", he had said in
his most menacing, low hiss.  At this reminder of that
conversation, I stammered, "Y-Yes, sir, I remember, Coach."  

	"Well, then, why don't we work on getting you back up to speed
with ten hours of extra sprints each week...Starting right NOW." 

	Well, by the end of practice that day, I thought that my throat
and lungs were on fire.  Right then I vowed never to touch
another cigarette.  It would take about two months of this extra
work to get me back into my old condition.

	As soon as I got home that evening, I went into my bedroom
closet and peeled back the loose corner of the carpet.  Under
this was hidden the pack of Marlboros that I had stolen from my
father.  I then headed into the kitchen, after confirming that
the coast was clear, and put the pack in the bottom of a
half-full garbage basket.  So now my smoking days were over! 
Even after today's ordeal it wouldn't be easy, since both of my
parents were heavy smokers.  They were so hypocritical, smoking
like a pair of chimneys, but threatening to kick MY ass if they
ever even suspected that I touched a cigarette.  In retrospect,
I know that they only had my well-being in mind.  They both said
that they wished that they could quit, but at the time this just
rang so false to me.  It was obvious how much they enjoyed
smoking, so why should they want to deny me that enjoyment?  Of
course, it's now known that the reason it's so difficult to quit
is the powerfully addictive nature of nicotine.  This would make
my decision to quit all the more difficult.  

	I had started experimenting with cigarettes when I was twelve. 
I was a closet smoker, for fear that my parents or my coach
would find out.  Since this was such a clandestine activity, it
took a couple of years before I smoked enough to get really
hooked.  The nicotine cravings were especially hard to withstand
while at home with two family members who were heavy smokers.  I
found that I could prowl into the basement and sneak a smoke by
the furnace blower and allow the intake to draw the smoke away. 
This would blow the smell all over the house, but with two heavy
smokers in the house, nobody ever noticed.

	In fact, I was successful in hiding my smoking until the day
the coach caught me.  I was in the woods just a little too close
to the practice field for the smell to escape his notice.  So I
quit cold turkey to avoid losing my position on the team.  After
the initial withdrawal was over, it wasn't too difficult to
withstand, once I realized that my own smoking was not nearly as
stimulating as observing WOMEN smoking.  There was just
something strangely erotic in every single move of a female
smoker.  From the moment I'd realize that a girl or woman
smokes, when I'd first notice a pack of cigarettes in her hand
or purse, or catch a whiff of tobacco on her breath or hair, I
would casually position myself to observe her without her
noticing.  Watching from a distance would have to suffice, as I
had never dated a smoker.  All of the girls I had dated were
athletes also, so they knew better than to start smoking.

	After my senior year was over, I was looking forward to
college.  I had been granted a football scholarship at the
regional university.  I had been working summers with my dad,
who was a plumber.  This year, there would be only two weeks to
earn a little spending change before packing up and leaving for
summer football training.

	About a week after school was out, my dad and I got home from
work on a residential construction project.  It was pretty
sweaty work, since it was the first week in June, and summer was
officially only a couple of weeks away.  After a day of cutting,
fitting, and soldering pipes, a long hot shower and shave felt
luxurious.  I  borrowed my dad's car keys, and loaded up my
fishing gear.  My favorite fishing hole was two hours' drive
away, and I would be spending the night in my pup tent.  The
charts said that a peak in fishing activity could be expected
starting at 5:00 a.m., and I didn't want to miss it.  This would
be my last opportunity in a long time.

	I said goodbye to my parents and pulled out of the drive.  As I
turned the bend out of sight of the house, my neighbor, Mrs.
Hoffman, ran across her lawn to the sidewalk, motioning for me
to stop.  

	I stopped the car and rolled down my window.  "Hello, Mrs.
Hoffman.  How're you doing?" 

	She stepped up to the car window.  "Hi, Don.  Thanks for
stopping.  I'm sorry to bother you, but the pipe under my drain
has broken, there's a bad smell in the kitchen, and there's
water in the cabinet beneath.  Could you come inside and see
what the problem is?"

	"Sure, Mrs. Hoffman, let's see what's going on."  Damn.  This
could cause me to get to my campsite after dark.  I pulled into
her driveway and got the toolbox out of the trunk.  Mrs. Hoffman
stood in the doorway to show me to her kitchen sink.  She had
apparently just awakened; she was wearing a pink nylon nightgown
under a lightweight white cotton bathrobe.  She worked nights as
a nurse at the hospital, so she usually wasn't even seen outside
until after four p.m.  She and her husband had divorced almost a
year ago after an often-stormy relationship.  I could remember
more than once seeing a police car heading around the corner to
stop just out of sight of our home.  Usually the next day my
mother would tell me she had heard from one of the neighbors
that Mr. Hoffman came home drunk, and in a violent mood.  She
had endured his abuse for eleven years, then placed a
restraining order on him.  She got the house in the settlement,
and he moved out of state afterward.  

	I had once had a crush on her when I was in grade school.  She
was a young bride, just out of high school when she and her
husband moved into the neighborhood.  Back then she had long,
dark brown hair that she allowed to hang freely down her back. 
It was also a plus that she was a smoker.  She had such a sweet
personality that was accentuated by the feminine way that she
smoked.  Once when she visited us at our house, I sat next to
her just to watch her smoke.  When she exhaled, she would turn
her face to avoid blowing smoke into my face; this was just fine
with me, as it provided me with a stunning profile view of her
exhalations.  Sadly, for me anyway, she had quit last year.

	"It's right this way, Don.  Once again, I'm sorry to bother
you".  As I entered the door, I said, "It's no problem, Mrs.
Hoffman."  

	She shut the door.  "First thing, Don, is that I now go by Miss
Taylor; I no longer want anything to do with MISTER Hoffman,
including his name.  Second, I'm only twenty-nine years old, so
please just call me Gayle."

	"Oh.  Sure, Gayle.  Let's see your kitchen sink."  She led me
into the kitchen.  Sure enough, there was a puddle of water and
sludge standing on the floor under the sink.  I opened the
cabinet under the sink, got down on the floor, and saw the
problem.  The trap had corroded through.  The smell she
mentioned was the sewer gas that was now drifting through the
open drain pipe.

	"My sink's been draining slowly, so I've been using a plunger
and a clog-busting solution.  I woke up this afternoon and found
it like this."  

	"Well, Gayle, it looks like that solution ate through your
trap.  The hardware store should have one just like it in
stock", I said as I studied the trap.

	"Oh, that's great."  Just then I heard behind me the click of a
lighter.  I looked around, and saw that she had just lit a Salem
100.  This was a pleasant surprise.  

	"Oh, I started smoking again about a month ago.  You'd think a
nurse would know better, wouldn't you?  There was all this
stress with the divorce, and my willpower just disappeared.  If
it bothers you, I'll take it outside."  

	"Oh, no, Gayle, it doesn't bother me at all", I tried not to
sound too interested.  "What I need to do is to wipe up the
water from the floor, remove your old trap, check your waste
pipe to see if it looks corroded too, and just fit the new one
on if everything else looks o.k."  While I was explaining this,
she was nodding her head; her left arm was folded across her
chest, and her right hand held her Salem to the side of her
head.  She slowly brought the cigarette to her lips, which
opened slightly, then sealed onto the filter.  Her fingers
parted into a V as her lips supported the cigarette, which was
now glowing even in the late summer daylight.  As she drew on
it, her lips pointed it toward the ceiling, then back at me. 
After a few more seconds, her fingers then closed onto the
cigarette, which she once again moved to the side of her head,
the filter almost resting against her right temple. She then
reopened her mouth  slightly to allow a small dense cloud to
drift out from between her lips before retreating down her
throat.  The inhalation was audible as her full breasts rose to
make room for the smoke.  It was very difficult for me not to
stare at her  intensely.

	"How much do you think this will be, Don?" She asked. 

	 "Well, Gayle, the new trap is pretty cheap.  As for the
labor...well, if you have a cold beer in your refrigerator, we
can call it even."  

	She smiled as her lips pursed to expel the smoke with a sharp
"wheeeew".  "Well, that sounds like a fair deal", she beamed.

	She gave me the money to buy a new sink trap.  I went out to my
car to the hardware store, which was only a mile away.  I had
the trap back to Gayle's house after 10 minutes.

I knocked on the door.  

	"It's open, Don", she called from the kitchen.  When I entered
the kitchen, I saw that she had cleaned most of the mess off the
floor and cabinet.  She was sweating from the exertion.  

"This shouldn't take too long", I said as I got onto the floor.  

"Do you mind if I watch you work?"  

"Not at all."

"OK, I'll just sit at the table."

As I positioned my toolbox, she took off her bathrobe, leaving
her dressed only in her nightgown.  		"It's hot in here", she
observed.  Now I was starting to feel a bit warm myself.

	As I took out a wrench to loosen the trap, I heard her lighter
click again, followed by a soft gasp as she filled her lungs
with smoke.  How could I watch her smoking  without being too
obvious about it?

	I then remembered that in my toolbox was a small mirror
attached to a short handle.  I used this to see around tight
spaces while doing construction work.  I casually reached into
my toolbox and pulled out another wrench, with the mirror also
cupped into my hand.  Carefully, I positioned the mirror in the
dark corner of the cabinet so I could see her without her
noticing the mirror.

What I saw was a stunning sight.  The sun was just now low
enough in the sky that it backlit her through the window.  She
wasn't really watching me after all, but reading her newspaper
and holding her Salem.  She was sitting down at the table,
wearing her nightgown and, it appeared, nothing underneath.  Her
beautiful form was visible from the light as it filtered through
her gown.

She moved her Salem slowly to her lips.  As she drew on it, her
breasts moved back as she exhaled through her nose to make room
for the smoke.  When she inhaled, her nipples surged forward,
protruding through the fabric of the gown.  After what seemed
like an impossibly long time, she blew out a fantastic stream of
smoke that went from her table into the living room.  After she
had apparently expelled all the smoke, she filled her lungs with
clean air.  Her nostrils then emitted twin streams that were
less dense than the first exhale.  This continued for three
cycles of breathing.  Then when there was no more to exhale, she
would take another puff. 

	"Don, is everything o.k.?  You've gotten pretty quiet over
there."

	"Oh, uh, yeah, everything is fine, Gayle.  I'm just trying to
figure out how to fit this new trap in here."  Damn it, Don, at
least act like you're busy.

	After she finished her cigarette, I made faster progress.  The
old trap came out, and the new one fit with no problem.  I stood
up and proclaimed, "Good as new.  You might want to have a
disposal installed in here to prevent this from happening again."

	"That's just great, Don.  Why don't I get you that beer now?"

	"That would be great, Gayle."  Man, she has a beautiful smile!

	I started putting my tools back into the box, then washed my
hands at the sink.  She lit a fresh Salem, then opened the
refrigerator and brought me a cold can of beer.

	"Well, I'd like to see your handiwork", she said as she knelt
down to look at the cabinet.  I was still washing my hands at
the sink.  She looked into the cabinet, then a puzzled look came
across her face.  She turned around to look at the table, than
up at me.

	She then stood up and closed the cabinet as I was drying my
hands.  She was standing close to me, arms folded, with her
cigarette held almost  against her head.  The smell of her
cologne combined with the smoke were electrifying enough,
without her standing so close to me in her nightgown.  

	She grinned at me, then handed me the mirror.  

	"Did you enjoy the view?", she asked coquettishly.

	Oh my God!  I had left the mirror in the cabinet!  I was so
humiliated, I was sure that I could slither under the door now.

	She suddenly had a look of pained concern on her face.  "Oh,
no, Don, don't feel bad.  I think it's very sweet that you like
the way I look.  She reached her hand, the one with the lit
Salem in it, to the side of my head and brushed my cheek.  "It's
very flattering."

	As the sidestream smoke wafted across my face, she pulled back
her hand and waved the smoke away from my face.  "Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to get smoke in your face."

	My mouth felt dry.  "No, Gayle, that's o.k., I don't mind your
smoking.  In fact, I think it's kind of.....sexy."

	At that, she stared at me with an expression that indicated a
dawning awareness.  She continued staring as she moved the Salem
to her lips.  She ever-so-sensuously moved it into her mouth and
pulled on it.  I was suddenly tumescent.  She then opened her
mouth to reveal an opaque cloud that quickly disappeared down
her throat.  She turned the filter around, moving it to within
an inch of my mouth.

	"Wanna smoke?"

	I nodded, and her soft, warm fingers pressed her Salem between
my lips.  It had been three years since I had last smoked, and I
had never smoked a menthol before.  The hormonal surge, the
nicotine rush, and the coolness of the menthol combined to
produce a light-headedness that I had never known.  With a
trembling hand, she then put the filter back to her mouth with
more urgency this time.  She pulled so hard that her cheeks
seemed to collapse as the smoke from her last drag billowed from
her nostrils.  Only when she could draw no more did her erect
nipples lunge forward against the nightgown to pull in the
precious nicotine-laden vapor.  She then stepped forward to me,
her mouth still open.  She placed her tongue directly into my
mouth, and the soft,  smoky taste of her breath made me
rock-hard.  She forced her lungs' contents into mine.  I
reciprocated, and our mouths released.  Both of us were now
panting, our heartbeats racing.  The smoke pulsed from her mouth
and nose as her next words came in a half-whisper, half-moan.

	"Wanna fuck?"

	We almost managed to make it to her bedroom, but instead found
ourselves sprawled on the carpeted floor of her living room. 
Her nightgown was off in an instant, but it took a few frantic
moments to tear off my shirt, shoes,  and pants.  I rolled over
onto my back and kicked up my legs to remove my briefs, and she
was suddenly atop me. Neither of us needed any further foreplay.
 Her moist aperture enveloped, then clamped deliciously onto my
erection.

	After all the stimulation, I climaxed pretty quickly.  I lay on
the floor with her still locked atop me, both of us struggling
to catch our breath.

	She was the first to speak, once she could gather enough air. 
"Why don't we find a more comfortable spot?"  I wasn't inclined
to argue.  She unlocked herself from my still-stiff cock, stood,
grasped my hand, smiled sweetly at me, and led me to her bed,
where we quickly found each other to have a voracious appetite
for more.

	After about four torrid hours, we found ourselves spent.  We
lay there smiling at each other.  I could more calmly examine
her beautiful body.  I guess twenty-nine isn't so old, after
all.  She had a beautiful light tan, gorgeous green eyes, and
only a little baby fat, which was mostly concentrated in her
firm breasts.  She kissed me sweetly, then got up for a moment
to head back to the kitchen.  As she padded through the doorway
without a stitch on, she turned her head around, and made a
pretense of being bashful that her bare white ass was being
viewed.

	She came back wearing her cotton bathrobe and carrying her pack
of Salems.  She got into bed and pulled out two cigarettes.  I
lit hers, then mine, and for several minutes we smoked
wordlessly as we stared, smiled, and laughed.

	"Don, I have to tell you, that I didn't plan this to happen. 
Not at first, anyhow.  I feel sort of guilty now.  I mean, I've
known you since you were in second grade.  This feels sort of
like robbing the cradle.  I can remember you as a little boy,
staring at me while I smoked.  Like you, I was always fascinated
by smoking when I was young. I remembered that about you when
you came in, and for some reason I just decided to put on a show
for you."  She took a drag, held it, then released a long wisp
toward the ceiling.  "I guess I feel a little more sexy when I
smoke."

	"But now...."  She grasped for words.  "You're going away to
college, and I have a job and a life here.  This can't happen
again."

	I didn't know what to say.  "But Gayle..."

	She touched a finger to my lips.  Her eyes started to mist
over.  "No, Don, we can't meet like this again.  Even though
this was something we both wanted at the moment, I was the one
who should have been more mature.  It's my fault that this
happened."

	"Your fault...?  Gayle, please don't make it sound so
awful...if you didn't notice, this was a dream come true for me.
 I don't..."

	She cut me off as a tear rolled down her cheek.  "Well, we
can't undo it; soon you're going to be a college football star,
and then a  college graduate.  By the time you're done with
that, you'll have yourself a twenty-one year-old girl who
worships you, and you won't have any need for a thirty-four
year-old woman."

	I wanted to protest. But she then placed a finger against my
lips again.  "Please don't say anything else.  This is something
we'll always remember fondly, and it's something we need to keep
as a good memory."

	I was sort of overwhelmed with emotion.  She took another drag
of her Salem, locked her lips onto mine, and filled my lungs
with the smoke that was once part of her.  Her robe came off
again and we made love one last time.

	Once we caught our breath, she kissed me lightly on the lips. 
"Those fish aren't going to wait all week for you to catch them.
Have a safe trip."

	I headed into the living room and gathered the clothes that I
had so hastily abandoned.  As I picked up my toolbox, Gayle
entered the kitchen, now dressed in her robe.

	"No more smoking for you, now.  You'll need your wind while
you're running with the ball."  Her expression forbade me to say
anything else.

	We kissed passionately; the taste of her warm, feminine, smoky
mouth was now burned into my memory.  Then I turned toward my
car without another word.  

	That was nearly twenty years ago, and I still think about her
all the time.  

	But I do smoke every now and then...a Salem 100...just as a
reminder.


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