My Back Yard

(by kbeacon@ix.netcom.com, 12 November 1995)


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Article 4240 of alt.sex.fetish.smoking:
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From: kbeacon@ix.netcom.com (Kathleen Beacon )
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.smoking
Subject: My Back Yard (story)
Date: 12 Nov 1995 23:05:32 GMT
Organization: Netcom
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X-NETCOM-Date: Sun Nov 12  3:05:32 PM PST 1995

						My Back Yard

									by
Kathleen Beacon


	I don't think I became obviously sexual until I was 15. Before
that there was innuendo.The games and banter were transparent to the
psychologically attuned, but the boundary was well defined by my fear
of rejection and lack of experience. Until those mid-teen years I had
to be satisfied with cravings residing at the address of the merely
hopeful next door to an imagination too shy to explore.
	I met Drew through some friends. He was the quiet kind, ready
with his rolling laugh when the jokes were good, relieved that, as the
new kid on the block, he was accepted into the fold. After school we'd
all hang out at the park or, when the weather was having one of her
moods, at any number of each other's homes. We'd hang anywhere to be
together, to delay doing homework, or to be, in an away-from-parent
sense, our separate selves. We felt like family and, so, those feelings
I had for him had to somehow penetrate the unwritten tradition
disavowing a peculiar form of incest taboo. This custom couldn't
withstand the onslaught of my budding hormones which irresisibly began
to chop away at what was quickly becoming a inconvenient relic from a
childhood past when our clique formed.
	I was envious of how accepting Mary's parents were when we'd all
sit around in the her basement joking and gossiping about the latest
relationships, listening to our favorite music, and, most of all,
smoking without a care in the world. It was something of a thrill to be
able to smoke in front of Mary's mom. She didn't think a thing of it
and I'd feel so grown up. When the inevitable finally happened, when my
mom found out about my smoking the year before, (see "How I Began, A
Story From A Different Place") she surprised me by accepting it
totally. Thereafter, I took distinct joy in hanging out with the crowd
at my house. The comfort I felt at home, contrasting as it did with the
release from the great smoking secret, was especially delicious. With
the new gained freedom at 15 I was smoking about a pack and a half a
day, and sometimes more.
	Drew didn't smoke. Most of us did, but when offered he'd just
come back with a, "Nah, that's OK, thanks anyway". We all took it in
stride, but when I imagined us together it was always sharing
cigarettes, being intimate. He was perfect in so many ways and this was
the only thing that didn't quite jive with reality. But I was satisfied
with what I did see and concentrated on that for the meantime. Whenever
our eyes met, he'd turn away, feigning casualness. For him to
look at me it had to be in context, with conversation. I'd savor those
times and was sure that there was something going on between those
moments of silence when a sentence would end and another begin.

	"So Drew, what have you been up to lately?" after catching one of
his innocent gazes now finding legitimacy by my question. Feeling that
familiar nebulous titillation when he again turned to me, I squiggled
next to him into the same couch that he was sitting on. I wasn't sure
what it was he said back to me, focusing instead on lighting a new
cigarette, having just finished the last one. It was a bit noisy, as
usual, with a cassette of Journey blasting away and everybody
into their thing.

	"The same I guess. You know. . . actually, I'm wondering how I'll
be able to get my car fixed." 

    Seventeen and driving he was always worried about getting up enough
money to keep his new purchase going. His eyes were following my
cigarette as I brought it to my lips for that first
real drag.

	"Oh, want one?"

	"Nah, thanks though."

	"I knew you'd say that."

	"So why'd you ask?"

	"I saw the way you looked at me, you just seemed interested."

	"I don't know, I just find, and I know this sounds a little weird
or something, but I just think there's something nice about how it
looks when you smoke."
	
	Absorbed with every motion of my hand as I raised it again, his
focus was now somewhat understandable. Looking back, it's a wonder he
wouldn't observe me constantly, as I would mostly chain smoke through
these gatherings. But though he watched my hand and, I
noticed, my lips, it wasn't as though he was avoiding looking at me,
like some awkwardly shy teenager fidgeting and anxious over eye-to-eye
contact.

	"You find my smoking sexy or something? Well that's a new one."

	I couldn't believe I said that. It felt like diving into cold
water. I guess I felt compelled to continue the subject, now that I saw
an opening to something I hoped would lead in the right direction, but,
for the moment, remaining unknown. I really wanted to get to know him
and didn't like skirting around things. And, anyway, when it came to
cold water, like in the community pool in my neighborhood, I could
never tolerate the agony of walking in slowly. I'd always dive with a
splash instead, swimming vigorously to warm up.
	Right after, though, I wasn't sure that what I said was such a
good idea. That look on his face, embarrassed, started taking on the
awkward facade I was sure didn't exist just a moment ago.

	"Drew, I'm sorry."

	"That's OK, I know it's a bit weird."

	"No, that's not what I meant. Actually, it's a compliment, what
you said. I mean, what's wrong with it anyway? I do smoke, and if you
like how I look when I do, that's part of me, so I guess, no, it's not
weird. I like that you're interested."

	Relief. I really felt bad that, even if for a moment, Drew would
think of himself less that this was his turn-on to me.

	"Actually, Drew, I'm flattered that you were so open with me."

	I wanted him to feel more comfortable. He was so sensitive and
sweet. It was important that I got to know him, away from the pretense
I felt he used to defend himself.

	"This isn't a good place to talk. Let's go outside," I added.
	
	My back yard had tall fencing on two sides. The lakeside, facing
the rear, was chain linked closing off the back exit and serving to
protect the pampered children of suburbia from themselves. Though the
feeling of openness permeated that green yard of grass and sprinkler
systems, it never lost its highest regarded virtue, privacy. I spent
many months there when twelve, becoming a smoker after school. I'd sit
cross legged under our 10 foot high terrace nicely positioned away from
possible surprise, while my mom worked her nine to five. Even though I
didn't like it much then, I'd force myself to inhale like the adult
smokers in my life. I knew if I kept it up it would eventually become
second nature. But smoking gradually became more than just
something I wanted or liked. It made me feel more mature, and, more
than that, it became a powerful need, eventually associated with any
number of daily activities. When it finally took over and I couldn't
hide it anymore I found that it enhanced my life in many other ways. I
was more amiable, actually feeling more feminine, imitating the more
popular smoking girls that soon became my friends. What better place
for a more relaxed mood? We slipped out the back sliding door and I
held Drew's hand, gently guiding him toward the chaise I'd lounge on
alone those many hours not so long ago.
	That night was clear and moonless, but the subdued light from
across the lake bathed our corner like quiet candles. It would serve us
well, hiding our lack of confidence and enhancing the combination of
mystery and attractiveness we felt for each other.

	"So, Drew, tell me all about this. Before you do, though, I just
want to say that I can't believe that we're actually alone together."

	"Why do you mean, why can't you?"
	
	He was trying to get a confession out of me first. If that's what
it took to open up the conversation, I was game.

	"I know you've been sneaking peeks at me. I just want to say that
I'm guilty of doing the same to you, did you know that? I'm so glad
that we finally got some privacy."

	"Really! I always thought you were kinda hard to approach, I
don't know why."

	He almost stuttered. I had taken a drag on my cigarette, the red
glow adding emphasis to his words. I released thoughtfully, letting my
exhale flow slowly downward over my bottom lip.

	"Well, you see that's not true, don't you?" I urged.

	"I guess not."

	"Drew, I'm trying to say that I like you."

	Starting to see the depth of his fascination, I brought my cig up
lazily. Locked between my lips, consciously puckered, I savored this
drag, almost kissing the end of the filter, inhaling the smoke
deliberately, self consciously. Drew's control was almost admirable,
but a slight rising of his eyebrows gave him away. I thoroughly enjoyed
this new found power, softly releasing in his direction this time. His
hand surprised me, barely touching the fingertips of my other hand
resting passively on my thigh.

	"I like you to."

	"So, are you going to tell me about it?"

	"What?"

	He was still trying to pretend. I only wished that he would know
how accepting I was. I had things about me that were also too
embarrassing to admit, and they helped me learn empathy far better than
most. I pitied the kids in school made into objects of derision by
those whose security depended on having someone, anyone, to ridicule.
They'd successfully garner the crowd, pointy fingers rendering
themselves immune from the kind of treatment they'd fear
they themselves deserved, if any of their well hidden secrets were ever
let out of the bottle. If he wouldn't tell me, then I'd show him.

	"This..."

	I couldn't see him tortured, yet saying anything at this point, I
knew, would do just that. I took his hand to my chest as I inhaled
deeply. An expression on a face, a small twist of cheek,
faint movement of our bodies, the alternative means we learn to express
ourselves say so much more than words spoken aloud. I kissed him
gently, answering his nonverbal assertions clearer than any questions
begged, as breath, held inside, added to my indescribable intoxication.
I knew his passion, and sharing it would be the answer he so intensely
needed. To be close, inside, to feel the same things, to live the
experience I knew that he felt only symbolically.
	
	We stood, facing each other. He leaned against the wall of my
house letting his hands glide through my hair, blond, and, I knew from
something he once said about someone else, his favorite kind. We kissed
again but without feigning. My back yard, little hiding place that it
was, had grown up with me that night and surely must have felt a twinge
of jealousy.

	My next breath was for the two of us. He, almost politely,
restrained our kiss as I brought up my next drag. Resting his now moist
lips near mine, tickling my cheek with them as though they were a third
hand held out to feel a new sensation, I pulled hard on my white habit.
His eyes consuming again, I let my cigarette go its way and turned to
him once more. His arms around me holding tightly my inhale. My chest
against his, now filled with its appropriate medicine, making itself
ready for the cure I knew he so desperately needed. The lips he
cherished so left no escape for him as I kissed him once more. As my
tongue pushed inward without boundary I exhaled to feeble resistance.
The coolness of his gasp felt right as he linked with my body so
willingly serving as a filter for this newborn. He wanted it, and I was
there for him. Again and again obliging his need as I would for myself.
Hands, now locking his head to mine, my way would enroll him into a
forbidden place and I would relive this defilement as a seduction. I
wanted him needy, as my cigarettes have made me, and knew I would
continue knowing Drew until that innocent daydream I had for us found
satisfaction.

	Drew was my first official "date". He was proud of his car, and,
I felt lucky that he had one since I didn't have to ask my mom to drive
me around anymore. Drew didn't want anyone to know about his "thing"
for me, so we'd find lots of places to go where we'd practice my
smoking kisses. He'd suck all the smoke out of my lungs, and just when
I'd think he'd like a real cigarette of his own "no thanks" was his
answer. But with his maddening desire to use my body as his personal
smoke filter and the increasing concern he had as to when I'd smoke my
next cig I knew that I'd make him the smoker I wanted him to be
eventually. His focus on cigarettes and sex reminded me that when I
finally became a real smoker, around 13 or so, I also found smoking an
erotic sensation of sorts. Of course, until I met Drew, I never
realized this aspect quite to this degree, but now I, too, became
aroused at the thought of seducing him into the same dependency that my
body had. I found myself imagining once again Drew and I smoking
our own cigarettes together. One day we were real lucky and found a
beach on the south shore that looked secluded. Surprisingly, hardly a
soul passed by and that day I smoked more than half a pack into him.
When after several cigs he asked me if I would light another, I knew
that the smoke from my lungs was finally having the proper affect on
him.

	As much fun as I had with Drew and his smoking, I had needs of my
own. The next day, I decided to start smoking a more potent brand.
Recalling a listing of cigarettes and their tar and nicotine levels, I
remember Pall Mall unfiltered was at the top, followed by Camels and
others. Pall Mall it was. I hoped that with this higher level of smoke,
my exhalations would have enough potency left to carry Drew over the
line. Drew was surprised, but I told him that I felt it unfair that he
was denying himself the full sensation of a real cig and this would
help.

	"I'm still filtering it for you, and isn't that what you like?"

	"Yea, you know that, but unfiltered? I mean, what about your
body?"

	"What about my body?"

	We both settled down after giggling the thought away. Concerned
that I would chicken out if I found the Pall Malls too strong, I left
my old brand home. Without a choice, I decided that one way or another
I'd get used to this new brand.
	Smoking them, I felt like a beginner again. They were so easy to
draw from, my practiced lips, used to filters, took in large swaths of
smoke.

	"They drew easy!"

	Laughing at my unplanned pun, Drew pressed up against me as was
his fashion and couldn't believe that I actually filtered that one for
him.

	"Did you inhale that one?"

	"Of course. Did you like it?"

	"Yea, wow, that's one strong cigarette!"


	After a little getting used to it, we eased into the usual tune
of the waves, sunning, and well. . . just beaching I guess.
	
	In time I learned to really enjoy the Pall Malls, having gotten
accustomed to their richer flavor. Before long, they became my
established brand, having given up my Marlboro Reds after trying them
again, and not getting the same satisfaction I once had.

	Toward the end of the Summer, Drew and I were just hanging out in
my back yard. I had fallen asleep while sunning next to him when he
woke me up to ask if I was sleeping. I knew he wanted me for a smoke,
but I was thirsty and went inside. While passing the kitchen on my way
out again, I grabbed that last pack of Marlboros I had from awhile ago.

	"Drew, I think you've seen how open minded I've been, and how
much I care for you, right?"

	"Sure. I've always been amazed at how lucky I've been to know you
as I do. What are you doing?"

	He was lying down with his belly to the sun as I sat cross-legged
next to him. He loved my fingers, their tobacco scented perfume would
feel his gentle kiss with longing. As I lightly touched his lips, the
questioning soon died down. I casually opened the Marlboros and lit
one. Savoring the light touch of my fingers gliding over his mouth Drew
kept his eyes closed. I leaned
over him kissing his neck, slowly bringing my mouth, the part of me he
converted into a key to his freedom, to his lips. The thought of what I
was about to do filled me with animal determination and I couldn't
stop. Slithering into position, my body wrapped itself over his as I
gradually increased the pressure from my hand on his forehead. I had
never been aroused so in my life. New sensations, of me penetrating
*him*, flashed with a collage of images both real and wanted. He will
be what he's always wanted to be, I will set him on this path. He will
finally learn the sensations I need, his lungs will be Kathy's lungs,
part Drew, and part me, to carry, like I do, an irrevocable habit
through life as I will. No more facade of strength, he will admit his
weakness. And when that admission doesn't matter any more, he will be
needy, like I am, with a dependency I have no choice but to accept and,
finally, embrace. Touching my cigarette to his lips he shuddered with
surprise.

	"Suck on it! You will do what I need now!" I demanded.

	Unconsciously I kept pumping against his bulge, so obvious near
my warmth. He owed it to me and knew it. It was his turn finally and
"no thanks" was out of the question. His acquiescence coming just
before my involuntary smile allured me from my intensity, stealing for
only a moment the ferocity of my purpose. Bringing the live tube this
time to my lips, I drained it, harder than I ever have, inhaled its
effluence deeper than I ever had, and now, mixing my exhalation with
the purebreath of our ecstasy I'd give him his turn.

	"Again!"

	He knew, and finally, gave in willing for the offer. His lips
fell naturally around its shape, taking on the appearance I demanded he
grow familiar with. He'd learn and we'd smoke in unison. It's what we
both wanted now. Feeding him as I would myself, I released his desirous
protrusion from its screaming confines. We blended top and bottom. He
entering me from below, me him from above. Not able any more to stop,
not allowing, this time, the shadow of frustration to enter till the
urgent end. I'd make my offering as he'd make his. With each liptouch
of my defiling fingertips he'd grow inside me. He was sucking harder on
the browned filter, admitting defeat, yet winning too. We both came to
decisive rest, electric orgasm only we would know.

	Weeks went by after that wonderful happening. I actually got used
to lighting two cigs at a time. I loved the way he'd rest the back of
his head between my breasts as I'd hold one cig to his lips the other
to mine at the same time, for the same duration. Spending so much time
with him, he quickly learned to smoke as I did, and it became him
beautifully. Eventually, his need for nicotine became inconvenient to
us both. We always kept what went before "our little secret", so
when the urging came in company, naturally, he started smoking on his
own. I was pleased for him, and for me. Shortly after, he went to the
Air Force and is there till today, coming home to his parents, and to
me, for some chat, or a smoke after dark in my yard.




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