Tom's Story

TOM'S STORY

Part 1

Jake was tall and lean, moderately muscular, and handsome.  
Although usually clean-shaven, he would sometimes not shave for a 
couple of days, and the whiskers accentuated his masculinity.  His 
blue jeans (which he always wore) fit snugly around his narrow 
hips, dropping to cover his cowboy boots.  His western shirt was 
tucked neatly into his jeans.  The left breast pocket had a 
familiar bulge where he always kept his Players light cigarettes (a 
very popular Canadian brand).  He loved his cigarettes. They were 
his constant companion.

He had one son whom he also loved dearly, and his son idolized his 
father.

From here on we will let son Tom tell his own story.

My dad was my best friend.  I loved to sit close to beside him, or 
on his lap, while watching TV or just sitting.  The familiar smell 
of cigarette smoke permeated his clothing and hair, making him more 
manly to me than ever.  I loved that smell.  It was the smell of my 
dad.

One day, when I was five and sitting with my dad as he smoked, 
watching how much he liked it and seeing the plume of smoke come 
out of his mouth and nose and curl cosily upward, I said to him, 
"Dad, will you let me try that (meaning smoking)?"  "Well, son, you 
are a little young, but I guess I wasn't much older than you when I 
had my first cigarette, so why not?"  "But before you actually 
smoke a cigarette I'd like to play a game with you.  You sit on my 
knee and open your mouth.  Then I will blow some of my exhaled 
smoke into your mouth, and you breath it in."  The smoke, mixed 
with air, went into my lungs and I could feel that it was no 
ordinary air that I was breathing in.  Then, as I breathed out, I 
could see smoke coming out of my mouth.  I said, "Dad, do that 
again, only this time make it a bigger one."  So my dad took a long 
draw on his cigarette, inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke into 
my mouth, which I promptly inhaled.  A much denser cloud of smoke 
came out when I exhaled.  It was fantastic, and it felt so good!  
And so he did it again and again and I was beginning to feel the 
wonder and exhilaration of the smoke in my lungs.  It was dad's way 
of breaking in my lungs gently to what was about to follow.

When we had done this for awhile, dad took his pack of cigarettes 
out of his pocket, removed two, one for himself and one for me.  He 
lit his first and then reached over and lit mine.  "You have to 
draw on the cigarette while I'm lighting it," he said, as if I 
didn't know that already.  This wasn't the first time that I had 
experience with a cigarette.  Once when I was much younger we had a 
group of friends visiting.  As I wandered among them I spied a lit 
cigarette burning in an ash tray.  I picked it up, put it between 
my lips, and sauntered among the guests, taking little puffs.  
Everyone laughed, including my dad, who said, "Now is that quite a 
little man, or what!"

But this was to be my big day.  I drew on the cigarette and then 
blew out the pleasant tasting smoke watching it leave my mouth.  I 
was looking just like my dad.  But I knew that smoking wasn't just 
puffing and blowing out the smoke now that he had introduced me to 
inhaling his smoke.  I had watched my dad smoke for too long and 
saw how, when he drew on the cigarette he would take a deep breath 
and then moments later blow the cloud of smoke out into the air.  
So, on the second puff I decided to do the same.  As the smoke was 
entering my throat I coughed a little, but enough of the smoke went 
down into my lungs to make me feel a little dizzy but euphoric, as 
every new smoker experiences.  I like it.  It felt so good.  I 
loved watching the exhaled smoke leave my body and join that of my 
father's.  Well, I smoked that whole cigarette, and with every 
puff, every inhale, it felt even better.  It was one of the 
greatest experiences of my young life.

My dad was jubilant.  "Hey, young fellow," he exclaimed, "you did 
it!  You smoked a cigarette, and you did it well.  Now I know that 
you are going to be a smoker just like your dad."  I felt like a 
million dollars.  I was smoking, and I was like my dad.

From that time on, whenever my dad and I were together, he would 
take a cigarette from his pack for himself and then offer one to 
me.  I never refused, because by this time my body was not only 
used to the smoke, but I was beginning to crave it.  We sat and 
smoked and talked father-son talk as we both inhaled that wonderful 
smoke.  Those were some of the best days of my life, and I felt so 
close to my father because we were doing something together that we 
both loved to do.  I could tell that dad liked it too, because he 
watched for every opportunity to share these times with me.  
Sometimes we would go biking together, take a break and have a 
smoke.  Sometimes we went fishing and, again, took time out to 
smoke together.  Of course, by this time, my smoking was more than 
an occasional cigarette, and so my dad would give me a pack 
whenever I needed it.  From age 5 on I became a regular smoker.

Anonymous (more to come)