A Terrible Mistake, Part 1

(by SSTORYMAN, 15 February 2005)


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This fictional account contains adult language and sexual themes. If such
language and themes offend you, please do not read further. The persons and
events described in this work are purely fictional. Any similarity to actual
persons or events is strictly coincidental. Copyright 2005 by SSTORYMAN.  All
rights reserved. Permission is hereby granted to reproduce this story in any
form and for any purpose as long as this notice is reproduced and no
financial remuneration is received, directly or indirectly, by the person
reproducing or using it. 
   
   A TERRIBLE MISTAKE 
   
   
   Author's Note: This story contains descriptions of incest, which some 
persons will find offensive. Please do not read if you are offended by such 
unorthodox and offensive sexual material. 
   
   1. Changing Jennifer. 
   Business was booming. But the latest request that Vincent Martinelli got 
from a new customer was unusual. Not that he cared. He never argued with 
clients about their requests. 
   
   He was still mad at Johns Hopkins for refusing to grant him his 
doctorate. His research on personality and behavioral changes was 
revolutionary. They admitted it. But the assholes on the committee turned 
him down anyway. Too controversial, they said, too dangerous. Damn 
bureaucrats! Well, he showed `em. He left the university to set up his own 
consulting business to further his research. In the process he stumbled 
upon a way to fund it. 
   
   It turned out there's a big market for the services he could provide. 
Lots of people will pay anything to change the personality and behavior of 
their loved ones. New Directions. It's what he called his consulting 
practice, a benign name for a truly revolutionary technology. At first he 
worried that seventy-five thousand dollars a treatment was too steep. He 
needn't have worried. Once he did a few successful treatments, referrals 
from satisfied customers provided a regular stream of new patients and new 
funds. 
   
   But this latest one was certainly a first. Well, didn't matter. He could 
do it, although he wasn't happy about it. He picked up the phone to call 
Tim. It was the only part Vincent didn't care for. He didn't like hiring a 
kidnapper. His lawyer drew up an iron-clad indemnity for his customers to 
sign. Regardless of what happened, he wasn't worried. Once he treated the 
patients, they never complained. They were always delighted with their new 
personalities. But he still didn't like kidnapping people. It was 
unpleasant. 
   
   Most of his customers were rich parents unhappy with a son or daughter. 
They were willing to pay anything to re-orient the rebellious kids, to get 
them off drugs or out of some insane lifestyle. He also got religious 
de-programming jobs, parents of kids involved in religious cults. But most 
customers usually just wanted a kid to go back to college, straighten up or 
get rid of some destructive behavior. So far, every one was successful. His 
treatment worked perfectly. Kidnapping the kids was the only tricky part. 
But once he finally got hold of the kid, he made `em into new people with a 
whole new outlook. That outlook was whatever Mom and Dad wanted and were 
willing to pay for. 
   
   "Tim? Hi, it's Vincent. Yeah, I got another one. This one's a young 
woman. Should be real easy. She lives alone. Name's Jennifer Stott. Yeah, 
in an apartment. She just moved in the building. I'll get the address. Hang 
on." He read it off the application. "Yeah, our client's a husband whose 
wife left him. I guess his dad's a billionaire. Name's George Stott. Didn't 
blink when I told him the fee. His bank wired seventy-five grand and I got 
it this morning. You'll get a kick out of this. It's weird. He doesn't want 
us to make Jennifer quit doing any destructive, negative shit like the 
others. No, just the opposite. I guess Jennifer left him because she 
decided he's too wild. Yeah, seems she freaked out when she realized what 
kinky shit he's into." Vincent laughed nervously. "George doesn't want his 
wife telling his dad. So he wants me to fix his wife's conservatism. He 
wants her just as depraved as he is. Weird, huh? Okay, listen. I can do it 
Wednesday. Grab Jennifer and make sure she's here at nine. I can have her 
done by mid-afternoon, but Suzanne can take her back when she's done. You 
only need to do the pick up in the morning. Then the poor girl will be 
ready to run home for dinner and some kinky sex with her pervert husband. 
Great. Thanks. Yeah, don't worry. I sent your fee. Sure. Bye." 
   
   Vincent hung up. Never before had he made anyone depraved. Till now it 
was always the opposite. He turned bad boys and girls into good ones. But 
there was no reason it shouldn't work the other way. He frowned imagining 
the outcome. The thought of a lovely, traditional old-fashioned girl like 
Jennifer Stott turning into a depraved sexual libertine was depressing. He 
didn't like it. But he needed the money to continue his research. He 
sighed. What the hell, he'd do it. 
   
   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   
   Tim Wilson stood outside the apartment building. It was definitely a 
high class place. No surprise, though. This lady's husband was loaded. He 
frowned looking at the directory by the front door. What the hell was her 
name? He looked at the note he scribbled and compared it to the list on the 
wall. Ah, here we go, he smiled. Scott, Jennifer. Apartment 2G. Must be 
her. 
   
   Vincent considered this difficult and dangerous, but Tim knew better. 
He'd done many things that were far more hazardous. Kidnapping unsuspecting 
kids and delivering them to Vincent's clinic was a piece of cake, 
especially since Vincent made sure the kids didn't complain. It was part of 
the treatment Vincent's clients paid for. Once Vincent changed their 
personalities to mirror whatever Mommy and Daddy wanted, the kids were 
always happy about it. So there was never anyone to complain and no way for 
him to get in trouble with the law. All Tim had to do was deliver the 
goods. And that, he could do. 
   
   Usually the easiest approach was best. He decided to try it with 
Jennifer Scott. Dressed in a policeman's uniform, he rang the bell for 
Apartment 2G and glanced at his watch. It was seven thirty in the morning. 
Poor unsuspecting Jennifer was probably still home. He sighed. If he'd 
miscalculated and she already left, Vincent would be furious. 
   
   "Yes?" 
   
   Tim grinned. Bingo! 
   
   "Ms. Scott?" he said in a deep voice. "This is Officer Johnson with the 
county sheriff's office. I'm afraid I need a moment of your time right now. 
May I come up?" 
   
   "What? Why?" 
   
   "I'm afraid there's been an accident. I need to talk to you right away. 
Please?" 
   
   "Who? Who had an accident?" 
   
   "I'm afraid I can't tell you unless I see you in person. Can I come up?" 
   
   "Um, okay." The female voice on the intercom was confused and concerned. 
He smiled to himself. Victims were too worried to think straight whenever 
he said he was a police officer with news of an accident. 
   
   The buzzer buzzed. He opened the door and laughed. It was just too easy. 
   
   Moments later he stood in front of Apartment 2G. He knocked. The door 
opened. 
   
   She was only half-dressed. Clearly he interrupted her as she was getting 
ready to go somewhere. Her shirt wasn't buttoned up and it was untucked. 
She had no shoes on her feet. 
   
   "Yes?" Her face shone with fear. 
   
   "I'm Officer Johnson," Tim repeated. "May I come in?" 
   
   She looked at his uniform. She hesitated. "Yeah, okay." 
   
   He walked assertively into her apartment and looked around. It didn't 
look like she just moved in. But whatever. 
   
   "You may want to sit down, Ms. Scott," he said with a compassionate 
smile. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news." 
   
   Jennifer's hands were trembling. Her face was white as a sheet. "Why? 
What is it?" 
   
   "Let me show you the official paperwork. Then you'll see why I had to 
speak with you." 
   
   He handed her an unaddressed envelope. She looked down and began to open 
it. She never saw Tim reach into his pocket and get out a small tube. 
   
   She tore the envelope and pulled out a blank piece of paper. "What's the 
bad news -?" she started to ask. 
   
   It was too late. Tim squirted the gas directly into her face. She 
groaned and immediately fell lifeless to the floor. 
   
   "Honey, I'm sorry," he laughed. "The bad news is I'm kidnapping you. 
Your hubby's paying big bucks to get you totally fucked up with some nasty 
new ideas. Don't worry, though. By the time you wake up I guess you won't 
give a damn. In fact, you'll be delighted as hell!" 
   
   Tim went into Jennifer's bedroom to search for her shoes. After putting 
them on her feet, he began to button up her shirt. Then he stopped. Aw, 
what the hell? Why not? He reversed field and unbuttoned it all the way. He 
took off her shirt and then her bra. "God, nice tits, Jen," he leered 
wickedly, massaging her exposed breasts in his hands. "Yeah, so nice and 
big and round. Shit, girl, your husband's one lucky son-of-a-bitch!" 
   
   He let out a big sigh. "Well, Jen, it's time for you and me to go. 
Vincent's got a treat for you, honey. Most kids we do this to end up being 
all goody-goody. But from what Vincent said, you're gonna get a 
transformation that's totally different. For some reason your perverted 
hubby wants to turn you into a slut." He looked at her unconscious body. 
God, she _was_ a good looking chick! "Look, Jen, if you do turn into a 
slut, call me," he laughed. "I wouldn't mind fucking you anytime!" 
   
   Removing unconscious victims was the trickiest part. Well-meaning 
neighbors easily caused problems if they saw him carrying a lifeless body 
to his car. But he was prepared. He opened his bag and took out another 
uniform. This time he dressed as an EMT. After putting the police officer's 
uniform inside, he picked up Jennifer's lifeless body and boldly carried it 
into the hallway. No one there. He smiled. Too, too easy. 
   
   As he walked down the front steps of the apartment building another 
woman was coming towards them. She was a nice looking blond in her mid 
twenties. "Jennifer Scott had a seizure," he said to her with an 
intentionally officious tone. "Thank God she called 911 before she passed 
out! Don't worry, she'll be fine. Probably be back home this afternoon." 
   
   The blond watched with her mouth wide-open as Tim put the unconscious 
body in the passenger seat of his car. On the side a sign proclaimed, 
"University Hospital EMT." The watching girl nodded as Tim hastily got in. 
She'll never remember what I look like, he assured himself. Even if she 
does, no one will complain. By the time she sees Jennifer again, if she 
even knows her, Jennifer will confirm that she had to unexpectedly go in 
for treatment. 
   
   He pulled away from the apartment building into traffic. In ten minutes 
he'd be at Vincent's New Directions clinic. Easy. Too, too easy! 
   
   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   
   Vincent wore his white coat as he inspected the lifeless female on his 
examining table. He didn't know why he wore the white coat. Nobody except 
Suzanne, his nurse assistant, ever saw him working, and Suzanne didn't care 
if he looked professional. She was paid too much to complain about any lack 
of professionalism. When he started New Directions he needed a nurse 
assistant to help administer the drugs. It took awhile to find a nurse with 
no medical scruples whatsoever. But Suzanne proved to be perfect. Almost 
totally unprincipled, his lovely nurse was glad to collect sixty grand a 
year and keep her mouth shut while working a nine to five job with little 
or no stress. She knew they were modifying the thinking of unwilling 
victims. But Suzanne didn't give a damn. The money was good; what the hell 
did she care? She was far more callous than he was. Her lack of morality 
was why she was a perfect nurse assistant. 
   
   Suzanne walked in and coldly perused the situation. She had on a pair of 
well-worn jeans and a tight tank-top. She looked slightly hung over. "So, 
is this today's victim?" 
   
   Vincent nodded and smiled. "Yep, name's Jennifer Stott. Pretty girl, 
don't you think?" 
   
   Suzanne circled the table with a detached air. "Yeah, cute little 
bitch." She let out a sigh. "So, we're sending another girl home to mommy 
and daddy with all the delicious badness sucked out of her, back home to a 
perpetually boring existence of tea and cookies?" 
   
   "No. Not this time. This one's different. You'll like this one. Take a 
look." He gave Suzanne the file. "Check out what Jennifer's husband wants 
done to her." 
   
   Suzanne smirked and shook her head. "Oh my God! This is too funny! He 
wants the bitch to _become_ a bad girl instead of being such a good one. 
Fuck, what a riot!" 
   
   Vincent flashed a cynical smile. His nurse assistant normally 
sympathized with their victims more than with the customers who wanted them 
changed. Suzanne was no saint. She often said she specialized in `badness,' 
as she called it, and complained about them reforming their other victims. 
It was why she did her job so well. Ethics were not Suzanne's forte. 
   
   She continued to read the customer's requests. "Shit, this poor girl's 
gonna wind up as bad as me," she giggled, turning the page. "God, he wants 
his pretty little holier-than-thou wife turned into a real bitch." She kept 
reading. "Hey, he wants poor Jennifer to smoke more, to be a heavy smoker, 
a nicotine addict. His exact words. Plus, he wants her to drink like a fish 
and live a promiscuous lifestyle. God, it's great. Today for a change we 
create a sexy little slut instead of that usual goody-goody shit." She 
closed the file to hand it back to Vincent. "Now we're getting somewhere," 
she grinned callously. "Yeah, this's gonna be fun!" 
   
   "I thought you'd like it, Suzanne. It's more, how shall I say this? More 
your style?" 
   
   "Yep, especially the smoking part," Suzanne laughed. "I just had a 
cigarette out back, Vince. Hey, maybe when Jennifer wakes up I can share a 
drink and a cigarette with her." 
   
   He shook his head. "Jennifer will wake up in her apartment with you, 
Suzanne, just like they all do," he said dryly. "Don't get any ideas. I 
know your sexual proclivities. I'm glad to see your enthusiasm, though. 
It's a welcome change from your usual cynicism." 
   
   "C'mon, Vince, you love working with me," she teased. "But yeah, I could 
really get into this," she laughed. "It's a hell of a lot more fun than 
neutering prodigal sons and daughters and sending them home to disappointed 
mommies and daddies." She returned from the cabinet on the wall preparing a 
syringe. "Shall I begin the transformation?" 
   
   Vincent nodded. "Be my guest." 
   
   "Jennifer, you'll love the new you," Suzanne smirked, injecting 
Vincent's specialized drugs into her arm. "Hey, Vince, can I do the talking 
part? I mean, the part where we repeat to her over and over her new 
priorities and values? I'd love to help corrupt little Jenny." 
   
   He sighed. "Yeah, sure. If it'll make you happy, Suzanne. One of us has 
to do it." 
   
   She picked up the file to re-read it. "God, yeah!" She smirked at the 
sleeping beauty on the examination table. "Jennifer Stott, first the drugs 
soften you up. Then my voice will change everything you ever thought was 
important. When you eventually wake up, I guarantee you. The first person 
you see? You'll beg them for a cigarette, a stiff drink and a good fuck!" 
   
   Vincent knew Suzanne was enjoying herself. She was right. George Stott 
wanted his lovely, innocent young wife to change into a promiscuous, 
pleasure-seeking slut who drank like he did and smoked heavily. He could 
accommodate that. Ordinarily he had no misgivings about changing people's 
personalities and behaviors. But this was different. This was the first 
time they would make anyone more depraved instead of less so. Well, it was 
just an anomaly. After all, how often could such a bizarre request come in 
the door? 
   
   Meanwhile Suzanne was busy chirping at the quiescent figure on the 
table, telling her of the parties she'd go to and how she'd enjoy herself. 
Trouble was, Suzanne was right. Once they finished with Jennifer Stott, her 
old conservative way of life would never again satisfy her. She'd be 
exactly what they were asked to make her; a promiscuous, degenerate, sexy 
little slut! 
   
   
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
   
   Jennifer awoke with a splitting headache. She opened her eyes and looked 
around. She was in her bed in her apartment. She tried to remember. What 
the hell happened to her? 
   
   Gradually she recalled. Yeah, a policeman came to her door to ask about 
an accident. While he was there she had some kind of seizure, and he 
offered to take her to a doctor. Yeah, that was it. She remembered. The 
doctor gave her medicine and reassured her it was a one-time thing. She'd 
be fine. Then someone drove her home. Yeah, the doctor's nurse, Suzanne, 
dropped her off. She let out a sigh. Yeah, that Suzanne girl made quite an 
impression. God, she was a sexy little thing with big beautiful tits and a 
truly fantastic ass! 
   
   Jennifer didn't know she was thinking differently. Describing the nurse 
that way seemed totally natural. As she continued to regain consciousness, 
she was also aware of the importance of the name "George." For some reason 
she had to find him, whoever he was, and fuck him. She rubbed her head. It 
hurt. Shit, it hurt like hell. But suddenly she knew what she needed. She 
needed a drink! Sitting up, she stumbled into her kitchen. Happily, there 
was a fresh bottle of Scotch on the counter. Thank God! She opened it, 
poured herself a glass and gulped it down. Yeah, that was more like it! 
Pouring another she returned to her bedroom to think. 
   
   The day was still a blur, but she knew that she talked with that 
gorgeous nurse while she drove her home. Somehow her words sounded so 
reassuring, so comforting. Suzanne had said everything was okay. She also 
remembered Suzanne smoked in the car. It didn't bother her at all. That was 
odd. Thoughtfully she sipped her scotch. God, in truth the pretty nurse's 
cigarette had smelled good. In fact, it was positively divine! 
   
   "God, I think I want a cigarette," she heard herself say. 
   
   It was crazy. "I don't smoke. Do I?" Suddenly Jennifer wasn't sure. She 
stared at the glass in her hand. Abruptly she began to giggle 
uncontrollably. But hell, she wasn't a drinker, either! She was only 19 and 
she'd never had anything alcoholic. None of her friends at church drank. 
She never had either. But to her amazement it didn't matter, not anymore. 
All of a sudden all she wanted was to continue nursing that delicious glass 
of scotch. 
   
   "And have a cigarette," she heard herself proclaim confidently. "God, I 
need to smoke." 
   
   She got off her bed and wandered into the living room of her apartment. 
She felt so odd. She wasn't sure why. But it felt good. Real good! She 
sipped her scotch. Why _didn't_ she used to do this? Why in hell hadn't she 
done it all the fuckin' time, enjoying the sweet buzz that comes from 
drinking alcohol? With a last gulp she downed the rest of the glass. 
   
   Then she saw it, a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights 100's on the table. 
Beside it sat a disposable lighter and an ashtray. She knew she didn't put 
them there. Then she remembered. Suzanne did. Suzanne left them for her. 
The nurse said she might need them, that same pretty nurse who smoked in 
her presence. 
   
   She laughed. Suzanne was a nurse! A nurse who smokes? Somehow it seemed 
riotously humorous. But she knew it was one reason why she felt so 
comfortable with Suzanne. It was because Suzanne smoked. She trusted 
smokers. It was because she herself was one of them. 
   
   "Shit, I don't understand," she said with a wicked smile on her lips. 
Thing was, didn't matter. Not now. There was no denying that her thinking 
had changed. She wanted things she never wanted before. Her talk was 
changing, too. She was using words that in the old days she died a thousand 
deaths before saying, like `fuck' and "shit" and using the Lord's name in 
vain. 
   
   But it all felt good. It felt great drinking scotch, and for some reason 
she also liked hearing herself swear. It felt totally natural, right. She 
knew she'd love lighting up a cigarette and smoking it, too. "Like 
Suzanne," she whispered dreamily. "Just like that gorgeous nurse. God damn, 
she was such a yummy, sweet little bitch!" She never felt that way about a 
girl before. But she felt sexually attracted to Suzanne, just like she was 
undeniably spellbound by the cigarettes on the table. 
   
   She was about to reach for the cigarettes when she heard a knock. She 
jumped. "Shit!" A second knock on the door followed, this one even more 
urgent. 
   
   "Hang on, I'm coming." She crossly put down her empty glass and opened 
the door. 
   
   In the hall stood an attractive blond in her mid-twenties. Jennifer 
smiled. Before she knew what she was doing it turned into a leer. The girl 
was gorgeous! "Yeah?" 
   
   "Hi, I'm your neighbor Jennifer from across the hall. Can I come in?" 
   
   "Sure." She opened the door and stepped aside, letting her lovely 
visitor enter. "What can I do for you?" 
   
   The girl seemed nervous. She was quite tall, with long blond hair and a 
very shapely body. Though dressed casually, clearly her clothes were high 
end. 
   
   "Hi, like I said, I'm Jennifer. I saw the EMT carry you out early this 
morning. You were totally out of it." She seemed jumpy. "He said you had 
some kind of seizure. I wanted to see if you're okay." 
   
   "Oh my God! I'm Jennifer, too. Nice to meet you. I'm Jennifer Scott." 
   
   It was the other girl's turn to laugh. "Yeah, I know. I saw your name on 
the directory on the front door. My name's still not up there. I only moved 
in three weeks ago. I've talked to the manager about getting my name on the 
mail box." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Jennifer Stott." 
   
   "Wow, our names are almost the same," the younger Jennifer giggled. 
"Scott vs. Stott. It's too funny. Once your name's up on the directory, I 
bet we start getting each other's mail." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm 
fine. Thanks for asking. The doctor says it's nothing. He says I'll be just 
fine, even though I'm still a little confused about what happened." 
   
   "Uh, that's good," the older Jennifer mumbled, preoccupied. She gave a 
furtive glance out the window. She saw her hostess notice. "Actually, 
that's not the only reason I came by," she admitted. "See, my husband and I 
are separated. I moved out three weeks ago and told him I never want to see 
him again. All of a sudden he shows up here at my apartment building. I 
just happened to notice his car drive up. I kinda freaked. I didn't know 
what to do. On impulse I decided to dash across the hall, partly to see how 
you are, but figuring I could hide in your apartment till my husband gives 
up and goes home. I hope you don't mind?" 
   
   "Mind? No, course I don't," Jennifer smiled. "Feel free to hide out here 
with me. Look, to keep things straight, why don't I call you Jennifer and 
you call me Jen? I feel like I need a new name anyway. It's a long story."" 
   
   The blond smiled. "Okay, -. Jen." She giggled and turned to look out the 
window. 
   
   "Oh, there he goes. I guess George gave up pounding on my door. Thanks 
goodness. I'm still mad at him." She blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to 
draw you into my problems." 
   
   "Don't worry," Jen said. "His name is George?" 
   
   "My husband? Yeah. Why?" 
   
   "I dunno," Jen sighed. "When I woke up this afternoon I felt I'm 
supposed to go find somebody named George. Actually, I'm `spposed to fuck 
him." The words escaped her lips before she could stop herself. 
   
   The older woman gasped. "What?" 
   
   "God, I dunno why I said that. It just came out," Jen explained 
sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I've just felt so fuckin' weird since I got home. 
It's like someone else is living inside me or some shit like that." Without 
realizing it she reached for the cigarettes sitting on the table. 
   
   "Oh my," Jennifer gasped. "You smoke?" 
   
   "Yeah, sorta," brunette Jen nodded. She hesitated. "But I don't have to, 
I guess." She wasn't sure she even knew how. But she couldn't tell her new 
friend. 
   
   "Don't worry. It's just funny," Jennifer went on with a wry smile. "But 
you smoke Marlboro Menthol Lights 100's. See, it's my old brand." 
   
   Jen brightened. "So you smoke?" 
   
   "Used to," she corrected. "George smokes. After we got married he kept 
after me. He insisted I try it. So I did. I wound up smoking for about two 
years, till -. Till I finally left the bastard. I quit smoking when I left 
him three weeks ago." 
   
   Jen felt intrigued, intrigued and pleased to learn her new friend was a 
smoker. For some reason, Jen didn't want her blond friend to quit. "Oh my 
God, Jennifer. But don't you miss it?" 
   
   "Yeah, sorta, I guess," the blond admitted. "Except smoking reminds me 
of George. I don't need that. But you go ahead, Jen. Have a cigarette if 
you want. I don't mind." 
   
   "Only if you have one with me," Jen giggled. "Come on, Jennifer. It'll 
be fun. I'd rather smoke with you than smoke alone." 
   
   The older girl hesitated. "Okay, but just one." Gleefully brunette Jen 
gave a cigarette to her new blond friend. Jennifer graciously accepted it 
and waited for the other girl to light her up. Jen clicked her lighter and 
did exactly that. 
   
   She watched the blond girl take a long pull on her smoldering cigarette. 
"Ah, thanks," Jennifer sighed happily. "Tastes good. It's a nasty habit and 
I know I should quit. But I did sort of grow to like it." 
   
   "Me, too," Jen giggled. Eagerly she mimicked her friend's movements. She 
lit up a cigarette for herself and released an uninhaled cloud of smoke. 
"Yeah, I like it." 
   
   Her uninitiated body wasn't prepared for it, but her transformed mind 
had been carefully prepared by Vincent to respond positively to the 
experience of ingesting nicotine. Jennifer Scott's overhauled psyche more 
than made up for her body's unfamiliarity with the phenomenon. 
   
   Blond Jennifer took another hit on her mentholated cigarette. She pulled 
smoke deep into her chest. Clearly she enjoyed it. But she noticed the 
inexperienced smoking technique of her younger companion. "Good for you, 
Jen. You don't inhale. Gosh, I never should've started inhaling the smoke. 
George was the one who made me try it. It's the one sure thing that gets 
you hooked before you know what happened." 
   
   "No, I do inhale," Jen protested. She raised her cigarette to her lips. 
This time she carefully emulated the other girl's smoking style. Jen 
dragged longer and harder and then breathed smoke deep into her chest. 
   
   The physical sensation hit her like a punch in the chest. But she never 
flinched. Instead her revamped psyche made her feel good about the 
sensation. She opened her mouth and released a flood of thick smoke. "See?" 
she proclaimed. "I told you I inhale." 
   
   "Yeah, I guess you do," the blond said with a poignant acquiescent nod. 
"I shouldn't be doing this, you know," she went on, guiltily looking at her 
cigarette, clarifying what she meant. "I don't know why I let you talk me 
into it." 
   
   "But Jennifer, smoking's great," the brunette heard herself affirm. "I'm 
gonna smoke all the time now. I absolutely love it!" She tapped an ash in 
the ashtray on the table. "If your husband's the one who made you smoke, he 
can't be all bad." 
   
   The older girl opened her mouth to release a luxurious exhale. Jen's 
crotch grew damp scrutinizing the feathery smoky wisps that flowed from her 
lovely friend's full lips. Seeing her companion smoke was turning her on! 
But of course it did. Smoking's incredibly sexy. All girls who smoke are 
sexy. And I smoke, she assured herself. And I'm sexy! 
   
   Jen hit hard on her cigarette and inhaled as deep as possible. Without 
Vincent's reorientation, she would've choked. But it didn't faze her. She 
only felt a release of extreme sexual pleasure and gratification. It felt 
totally unprecedented. God, she liked it. Yes, she _liked_ being a smoker, 
and she especially liked smoking with beautiful Jennifer. Why hadn't she 
ever realized how she felt about smoking and about gorgeous women? 
   
   "Jen, are you okay?" 
   
   "Yeah, I'm fine," Jen groaned. "God, it just feels _so_ fuckin' good to 
smoke with you. Don't you think so, Jennifer? Truly? Isn't it heavenly?" 
   
   Jennifer laughed. "Well, it is sort of nice after not smoking at all the 
last few weeks," she admitted. "But it's a terrible habit, Jen. It's so bad 
for us." 
   
   "Oh no, it's _good_ for us," Jen answered dreamily. "It's _so_ good. 
Shit, I can't believe I haven't been doing this for years and years. It's 
kinda like drinking." She looked at her empty glass. "You want a drink with 
me?" 
   
   Jennifer abruptly crushed her cigarette in the ashtray, but not till 
she'd taken one last monstrous drag and inhaled more of that delicious 
mentholated smoke deep inside her body. "No, I really should go," she said 
guiltily. "Listen, thanks for letting me hide from George." 
   
   Jen was sorry, but she could tell there was no way Jennifer was going to 
stay with her. "Hey, no problem. Let's get together again soon. Okay?" 
   
   "Okay," Jennifer grinned. "But I'm afraid you're a bad influence, Jen. I 
haven't smoked in weeks and suddenly here I am having a cigarette with you. 
I can't afford for you to corrupt me into getting drunk, too." She laughed. 
"I had to get away from George because of all his terrible habits. He 
smokes too much and he drinks too much, among many other awful things." 
   
   "Like what?" Jen's voice had a faraway quality to it. 
   
   "Well, for one thing, I found out George was cheating on me with other 
women." 
   
   Jen shrugged. "So?" 
   
   "What do you mean, so? It was terrible, Jen. I came home one night 
unexpectedly and found George in bed with some bimbo. Even worse, he tried 
to talk me into joining them!" 
   
   Jen knew the politically correct thing was to echo her criticism. But 
she couldn't. The idea of two women in bed with a guy sounded marvelous, 
exactly like something she suddenly wanted to do more than anything. 
   
   "I dunno, Jennifer. Maybe you're too hard on poor George." That name 
again! God, what was it about his name that gave her goose bumps? "But 
whatever. I want to be your friend," she went on earnestly, doing her best 
to cover up raging lustful intentions. "I'm sorry you're feeling sad and 
alone. Seriously, let's get together and share some girl time. You know?" 
   
   "Okay," Jennifer grinned, not realizing brunette Jennifer's true motive. 
"Thanks for the company. And thanks for the cigarette. I know where to come 
if my nicotine cravings get too strong." 
   
   "Come over anytime," Jen said languorously. "I'm happy to corrupt you 
anytime!" 


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