My Start Smoking Story

(by an263547@anon.penet.fi, 23 September 1995)


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Message-ID: <070302Z23091995@anon.penet.fi>
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From: an263547@anon.penet.fi
X-Anonymously-To: alt.sex.fetish.smoking
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an263547@anon.penet.fi
Date: Sat, 23 Sep 1995 06:56:27 UTC
Subject: My Start Smoking Story
Lines: 167




My Start Smoking Story


Hi. I saw Kathleen's story here the other day about how she started to
smoke and really liked it. So I thought I'd try my hand at putting down my
story for you too.

I don't remember a time when I didn't seem fascinated by smoking. I was
the youngest child in a family of four kids. All of my older brothers and
sisters smoked to some extent while I was growing up, and my mother was a
heavy smoker as well although my dad never took up the habit. I was very
much influenced by my mom in that the others were older and had pretty
much gone out on their own by the time I was growing up and so I was with
her most of the time since my dad was always working. My upbringing was
very strict and respectful of authority, and I learned those lessons well.
To me it was always important to do as you were told, be a good kid, and
not get into trouble. While that was pleasing to my elders, it was very
repressing to me and I had to contend with reconciling my urges to go out
and act like my friends with the knowledge that if I did, I would severely
disappoint my folks. So generally I stayed away from things that were
"bad" and tried to behave in a way that would please my folks, especial ly
mom. This manifested itself in studying hard, staying behind to help out
around school, going to church every week, and in general being an angel.

My mom smoked almost on a constant basis. I would watch her and look at
how much she seemed to like it. All of their friends that would come to
the house seemed to smoke too, and so it seemed like the thing to do even
though I knew it was one of the bad things that I wouldn't be allowed to
try. But I still had this fixation on it, and I remember watching the ads
on TV and in the magazines and admiring the pretty girls who were smoking
in them.

I had my first cigarette when I was about 10 years of age. My sister who
was 12 years older than I and had moved away from home came back for a
visit. She was a smoker herself by this time and had to sleep in my room
for the time she was home. When she departed she left behind what I guess
she thought was an empty pack but which had actually one cigarette left in
it. One Saturday afternoon I discovered this in my room. Everyone else was
out except my mom who was downstairs taking a rare nap. Thinking I would
not be discovered, I took the cigarette into the kitchen since I was
afraid of matches and lit it using the kitchen stove. I crept back
upstairs to my room and closed the door. Laying on my bed I took my first
puff, not knowing enough yet to even try to inhale. It didn't seem like
anything much and I took a second. Just then the door opened and my mom
came in. I quickly dropped the cigarette under my bed and tried to act
like nothing had happened. But I never realized the smell would give me
away and after a few seconds of me acting like nothing was different she
asked me if I was smoking. After a few seconds of embarassment I saud yes
and she asked me to give it to her. "I should make you finish the whole
thing, then you'd get sick and never smoke again", she admonished me, and
yelled at me about burning down the house. I broke into tears of shame and
asked her not to tell on me. She took the cigarette away and said that as
long as I didn't ever smoke again she wouldn't do anything else.

I didn't try smoking again for a couple of years. By this time I was the
only one of the kids left at home. The folks would go out every Tuesday
night and would leave me alone. That summer I started to watch mom smoking
during the day when I was home on holiday from school. I'd imitate her
style with a pen or whatever and soon figured out the basics. But I never
actually took a puff until one day when for some reason I snuck a
cigarette out of mom's pack during the afternoon knowing that they'd leave
me alone that evening when they went out. That night I waited an hour or
so until I was pretty sure they wouldn't come home unexpectedly and I
retrieved the cigarette from the hiding place and carefully lit it. Mom
smoked menthols and this was my first experience with them. I took a few
puffs and tasted the minty smoke without even thinking about inhaling.
Then as I took a puff and prepared to blow it out of my mouth, something
tickled my nose and I suddenly felt a sneeze coming on. As a result I
accidentally inhaled all of the puff into my lungs. The sensation was
unbelieveable, like someone hitting me in the chest. But my sneeze never
actually finished, and the smoke that came out of my mouth was long and
diffused compared to the earlier puffs. I realized immediately what I had
done and I felt a thrill. Heart pounding, I took another puff after a
while, closed my eyes, and this time inhaled it intentionally. The feeling
was wonderful this time. After a second or two I blew it out and felt a
tingle run through my body. It was both a reaction to actually doing
something that I had always fantasized about and the sight of seeing smoke
exiting my body, and I loved it. I took another couple of puffs and began
to feel dizzy so I ditched it in the bathroom.

From that night on I would sneak a cig out of mom's package whenever I
knew I'd be alone that night. One night after a few weeks of this I had
finally succeeded in inhaling an entire cigarette for the first time but
passed out afterwards feeling extremely shaky and dizzy. That experience
didn't stop me though and may in fact have let me feel that I had finally
accomplished something. The next time I had the chance to smoke I was able
to do it with no problems. Soon I would get bolder and sneak 2 or 3 cigs
out of the pack, and before long I'd take them whenever I could and build
up a small inventory of cigarettes in my room. I was still only smoking 1
or 2 a couple of nights a week, but I had mastered the art of inhaling and
looked forward to having the chance to smoke whenever I could.

With my inventory of cigarettes and matches available, and feeling the
urge to smoke more often, I began to use the bathroom to satisfy my
growing smoking desires. The exhaust fan would cover up most traces as
long as I picked my times carefully and so I began to smoke 1 or 2 each
day. By now I always inhaled and really liked that part of it. Breathing
smoke into my lungs was something that just felt so good and I think I got
a naughty rush out of doing a bad thing behind mom's back. That summer we
spent in a house in the country and I soon realized I could stash a pack
and some matches in a plastic bag in the woods not far from the house. So
I took a pack from mom's carton and set myself up. Before long I was
spending a lot of time in my woodsy retreat a nd this was when my smoking
habit began to really take hold. By now I felt the desire to smoke several
times a day and soon was taking a pack every few days. I'd slip into the
trees and go to an area that may have been an old structure of some sort
that had a couple of flat sections of stone where you could sit
comfortably and light up. I could smoke here undisturbed without fear of
being found and would sometimes have 2 in a row which I had never done
before. My enjoyment of it was at a new high but I never really realized
that I *had* to smoke now because of the cravings I felt, but thought
instead that it was just something I liked. My smoking increased to 5 or 6
cigarettes a day that summer.

We returned to the city that fall and shortly after I returned to school I
realized that I wanted to be able to smoke more often. By this time I had
started to buy my own and I kept them in my bedroom and used the bathroom
routine whenever I needed to smoke at home. But this was beginning to be
a hassle and after a long time of worrying about it I finally got the
nerve to tell my mom since I figured she'd be more sympathetic. We were
alone in the car one day when I finally asked her. "Mom, you know that I
smoke now" I told her. "Oh yes, I know dear. I've smelled them in the
bathroom after you've come out, for quite a while", and that was it. She
then asked me if I wanted to have one with her and she lit me up for the
first time. I was nervous and stunned as I smoked with her watching me for
the first time but she was really cool about the whole thing. I can't say
that I enjoyed that first cigarette with her but my reluctance rapidly
went away as I got used to the idea and my need for nicotine took over.

After that she was really supportive about my starting to smoke, letting
me smoke whenever and wherever I wanted to and buying them for me by the
carton, making sure I always had enough. She encouraged my smoking only to
the extent of offering me a cigarette every so often when she would have
one too. After a short while I noticed that I was smoking much more than
before, usually whenever she had one too. I was up to better than half a
pack a day in no time with no sign of slowing down. By now I had realized
that I enjoyed smoking a lot and finally that I now really wanted to
smoke. After about another year, with mom continuing to offer support to
my habit and with me deciding to let myself smoke as often as I felt like
one, I got up to a consistent pack a day. I slowed down my rate of
increase at that point but still let myself smoke freely and continued to
really enjoy smoking and let myself eventually go up to about a pack and a
half a day, almost the same as mom. We talked about smoking a little and
she told me that she knew it was bad for her but that she really liked to
smoke and didn't want to give it up and besides, it wouldn't make any
difference now anyway since she had been a smoker for so long. I think
that she liked the idea that I had become a smoker too since we often had
long chats over cigarettes like a couple of old friends. She asked me once
early on about my smoking and whether I really liked it too and if I
thought I could give it up. I told her that I did and that I wanted to
keep on smoking. After that she seldom raised the subject again.

So thats my story. I still smoke and still love it very much. I'm addicted
and know it's bad for me but I don't mind. I'm a smoker and I'm glad I
started because it is a pleasure that I don't want to give up.




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