Linda Discovers Smoke

Linda Discovers Smoke

Well kids, all I can say is, thank God for mum and dad being divorced and
fighting for my affections. But for that, no way would I have been allowed to
grow up so quickly. 

I hear you saying "grow up"? Well kids, you see its like this, I'm only twelve
years old and I smoke. I mean; I really smoke. I smell like a smoker and I
talk like a smoker.  I have to thank mum for giving and setting an example for
me to smoke.  

Another thing kid's and this will freak you out. I drive a Mercedes. Yep, I
drive a Merc and I'm a real smoker and I'm just twelve year-old. The Merc and
learning to drive was dad's idea. First, he taught me on private roads, then
when I got better at it, on the public roads. 

Mum stopped loving dad cos he had a drink problem. Which was probably why she
chucked him in the first place. Me, I didn't mind; he was my dad after all and
I loved him. At that time when I was only eleven, I lived with mum in town and
I visited my dad pretty often several times a week.

I suppose I should be grateful for my dad's drink thing. He used me because of
it. You see his drink problem was the reason I'm driving.  Dad needed his
drink, but he needed to keep his driving licence as job as a company director
required him to drive. The reason dad taught me to drive his Mercedes was so
he could get really drunk when I was staying with him. I would drive him in
his car down to the pub where he drank during the day or night. When this
happened I was expected to drive myself home, mess about or whatever and wait
till he called me from the pub. Then I would make myself look older with my
props and drive the car back and fetch him home at his bidding. I didn't mind
at all even though I knew how illegal this was. In fact I found it great fun
and I thought, real cool. I mean not many eleven year-old kid's could say they
were trusted to drive their father's flash Merc and all by themselves to boot.

Dad lived on his own out in the country not far York where I lived with mum.
Because he lived out in the country there wasn't too much chance of me getting
stopped by the police during the four or five miles of me driving him to his
local? It was when I had to drive back on my own that I used to get a bit
freaky. I didn't like that so much. Oh and there was another thing I didn't
like. I didn't like the smoking bit. "Smoking bit" I hear you thinking. You
see, when dad needed me to either take him or collect him from his local he
always made me have a lit cigarette whilst I drove him. This was, he told me,
because me apparently "smoking" and wearing some make-up made me look more
mature than my eleven years. I did love the make up part. Putting on lipstick
and mascara and a couple of socks under my bra was brilliant. I loved that.  I
reckon any ten or eleven year old girl would love that part of it too. But the
cigarettes. ugghh! That was the gross part. I hated it.

The funny thing is, dad didn't smoke. In fact he happened to hate people
smoking. He just hated smoke. But as I said, he still had me driving him
around with a lit cigarette to help disguise how young I really was. Could you
believe it, I even had my very own carton of Marlborough Reds in the Merc's
glove box. Dad bought me them but he would always tell me that the cigarette
was only a prop. It was disguise. He would look at me sternly and say that I
had better not even think of smoking. I agreed emphatically. Cigarettes stank. 

There's another funny thing. My mum did smoke and up to me being forced by dad
to have my own cigarette when I drove, I used to think she was so glamorous
and sophisticated looking when she was smoking her cigarettes. I never liked
the smell though. You know, that sweet smokers aroma that people who smoke
always have. Ever since I had to have a lit cigarette going of my own I now
really hated that smoking image. What with me being forced to have a lit
cigarette every time I drove I was of the opinion that it was a dirty smelly
pastime. The cigarette that I had to _have_ in my fingers always seemed to
drift its smoke into my eyes and sometimes I could hardly see where I was
driving for the smarting. Not to mention the smell which aggravated my little
nose.

What is more, and worse, I smelled of cigarette smoke and I hated that totally
including the yellowing of my fingers through  nicotine. But I did love
driving my dad's car so I tried put up with the eyes smarting and the stink.

In fact it got so bad during my school holidays when I had to spend 3 weeks at
my dad's. I started to think how I could get used to the awful smoke and
smell. Just in the first week I had to drive him about at least 20 times.
That's over 200 miles for you kids that need a bit of numerical help.  All of
the time with a damn cigarette burning away in my fingers on the steering
wheel. In other words, I had to tolerate that awful stench simply to show
anyone, who might be looking, that I was older than I was. Towards the end of
these three weeks I was driving dad about even more and maybe covered seven or
eight hundred miles in total. And at least half that distance all on my own.
I often found myself thinking about my mum and how she could possibly desire
and need to smoke. But I had to confess that she always seemed happier and
definitely more content when she had a cigarette going, especially when
driving her car. 

Then I would remember how the whole interior of her car would be awash with
her smoke. I guess just like the Merc I was driving I suppose. I often was
amazed at the volume of smoke, which would simply pour seemingly endlessly
from her mouth. Mind you, I would almost always at some stage during the car
journey, start gagging from her smoke and complain bitterly. My mum used to
laugh and tell me to grow up. 

Actually kid's, the last time I was in the car with mum, just before the my
holiday at dad's, it was really weird.  I had been complaining about her smoke
and having to breathe it in and how it was bad for me. She just told me that
one day when I smoked I wouldn't even notice her second hand smoke. Mum went
on to tell me that driving hyped her up sometimes and that her cigarette just
was so soothing, that I should be grateful they made her relaxed and in
control.  I couldn't believe my own ears when my mum teasingly suggested that
I should take up smoking to just to find this out. She also said that I could
have one of her cigarettes and I remember telling my mum that she must be sick
to think I would even think about breathing that crud. Boy kids, was I angry.
Of course, I didn't tell my mum that I could start smoking at dad's house
while driving whenever I wanted. Or that I lit my own cigarettes as expertly
as her. But it did get me thinking. 

Especially as I often these days found myself driving dad's Merc back home and
had between my very own fingers a lit cigarette to get me "soothed" and
"relaxed". But I didn't know how to go about it.  

Anyway kids, one afternoon when I got into dad's Merc to go and fetch him and
I was distastefully lighting up my "prop" and was feeling quite nauseous from
the smoke. I thought back to what my mum had said and suddenly decided then
that if I learned to smoke properly, I might get to stand the smell better and
if I did, driving would be even more fun.  

So with my mind made up I decided to start taking actual puffs, in other
words, actually putting the burning cigarette to my lips and drawing on it.
Previously I had only done this to light the damn thing up. Now I found myself
repeatedly with smoke in my mouth and gently letting it out. I practised doing
this and it was dreadful. My mouth watered and the taste was foul. Wow, I was
in total agreement with my dad's anti-smoking stand and I just couldn't
understand my mum actually getting pleasure from this dirty habit. I wondered
why I used to think the sweeping deep plumes of smoke coming from mum's mouth
and nostrils were so stylish. Not any more, I knew fully how disgusting it
was. It was disgusting.   

Dad would have gone ballistic had he realised his eleven year old daughter was
trying smoke properly even if it was only a little bit. Of course I didn't
dare actually try practising my smoking when taking him to the pub. Or
fetching him back for that matter.  I just held the burning cigarette between
my fingers as usual. But when driving back on my own, even though it was only
a few miles down the road. You gotta understand this kids, If I passed another
car coming towards me, or worse, when another car was behind me then passed
me, I would freak out knowing I was doing something really naughty Then I
would imagine getting caught driving and almost pee myself.  That was when I
really wanted to have the soothing bit that mum told me cigarettes did for
her. So I started really sucking on my cigarette, to try take my mind off the
unlawful aspect of me in control of a car and at the same time trying to look
grown up.

So there it was. Little me in control of that big Merc of dad's now sucking
away on my cigarette and blowing that blue smoke all over. The trouble was,
although I was only eleven years old I knew my amateur puffing and blowing on
the cigarette gave me away that I wasn't a smoker. I really did try and want
so much, when driving dad's car, to look like a natural smoker when I was on
my own. But I always felt sick. So I just needed to practise some more I
reckoned. Just so I could put that damn smouldering thing to my mouth and at
least look as if I had done this smoking thing for ages. 

Anyway kids, I'd parked the Merc in dad's drive and got out to mess around
playing with my dolls house. A little while later I got bored playing with my
dolls and wondered what else to do. My thoughts went back to smoking again and
on impulse I got into the Merc. Dad had told me that he needed me to pick him
up at 4.00pm. It was only 1.00. I had a couple of hours to spend practising my
smoking and of course, have some real fun driving that Merc around a bit.

That is what I did. I got into that car feeling very perverse and illicitly
lit a cigarette as I turned the ignition key. My cigarette glowed confidently
making me feel immorally mature as I drove down the road. Wow kids, for almost
one and half-hours I drove that car all over the place. I must have lit and
puffed through at least ten cigarettes. Then on the way back to dad's house
and totally engrossed with my puffing and blowing, trying to make it look
natural, I overshot his turning and by the time I realised, I was thirty miles
further away from home on a road that I didn't know. I was lost. Of Then I
realised that I was outside my school near mum's home. Of course I panicked
and turned that big Merc round and drove like a bat out of hell back. Actually
that high-speed drive gave me such a buzz I wet myself. Well you know kids,
when you're only eleven years old, driving a big car and doing 110 mph the
waywardness of it does that, you know. 

I screeched that big car to a halt in my dad's drive and switched off the
engine. I was so high I promptly, there and then, lit another cigarette up in
that Merc and do you know what. I knew then why mum and other smokers would
enjoy this puffing thing. I actually got a funny sort of excited dampish
feeling. Looking back I know this was a sex feeling.  Well I know I was only
sucking the smoke into my mouth and immediately blowing it out again.
Nonetheless it was an improvement on just holding a burning cigarette. More
importantly, I had reached the stage of not minding as before, the grotty
taste and smell any more.  No sooner had my excitement subsided than I had to
set off again to get dad from his drinking. When dad got in the first thing he
commented was how his Merc was starting to have a smokers smell about it and I
was getting suspiciously familiar with my cigarette. He fell asleep and I took
a few salacious puffs enjoying a sense of corrupt delight as I blew the smoke
out right in front of my sleeping dad. When I got us home dad was still drunk
enough that I had to help him upstairs to bed. He just collapsed into a deep
sleep, which I knew would last at least 4 or 5 hours.  

Now I continued being naughty. I got such a buzz from doing 110mph the last
time, that I backed the car out of the drive and took off again. Boy did I
have fun kid's, in no time at all I got to be a very fast driver. I really got
a buzz out of passing other folk; sometimes I'd be doing 130mph. From then on
and afterwards, when I'd dropped my dad off at his watering hole. I would take
his big Merc all over the place. I tell you what kids, its cool driving and
smoking. But I have to remind you that when dad was in the car I rarely put
that lit cigarette anywhere near my mouth. You see, at first I was only
bothered about looking old enough when I was on my own. I reckon people sort
of assumed I was old enough when I had a full-grown man, namely my dad, in the
car. So the practising was for me only when I was alone. But now I wanted to
be a smoker and I wanted to need to smoke.


Although I knew I didn't smoke properly I actually did enjoy pretending I was
a smoker and taking deep puffs and trying to let them come out of my mouth
like a real smoker. I guess it was becoming a bit of a habit. 

Sooner or later it had to happen I guess. I got a little blase and actually
took a puff in front of my dad. Not just a puff like I normally did on my own,
but my very first real puff. I mean kids, the real inhale and real exhale
thing.  It happened because I needed two hands free to turn this junction. I
placed my cigarette in my lips so that I could grip the steering wheel
properly and not thinking. I sucked on my cigarette only to stop the smoke
drifting into my eyes. My dad was watching me. With horror at my action my dad
had shouted "Linda!". This startled me and I gasped. Of course I had a mouth
full of smoke. For the very first time in my short life, a mouthful of dense
smoke was snatched right down into my lungs. Wow! Talk about being winded. My
chest felt tight as this foreign smog swarmed into my inside and in shock I
held my breath. "What the hell are you doing young lady?" My father slurred
with indignation. Feeling scared I vacantly shook my head as if I didn't know
what he was talking about. I continued holding my breath. "I sincerely hope
you aint smoking my girl" my dad said grimly. My body started to tingle and I
felt my head going light. A warm euphoria built up in the pit of my stomach. I
turned my face towards my dad.  "Don't be silly dad" I replied "I don't
smoke!" My talking tailed off for the smoke trapped deep inside me came
welling up accentuating my last three words with paradoxical emphasis.  Not
only that, but worse, my smoke which was still pouring from my lips, I had to
direct the away from my dad's face. I was mesmerised by this smooth grey-blue
plume of grown-up smoke that I had just done. I actually felt so naughty but
sophisticated at the same time. My dad was stunned. He then whispered "do that
again Linda". I suddenly felt all embarrassed and coy.  "I can't smoke dad" I
whispered back. Still I placed the cigarette back into my mouth and drew in
smoke again. I breathed this new wad of smoke down into my lungs and paused. I
looked apprehensively across my dad. He acknowledged my distressed look with a
humorous nod of permission. 

Relieved I relaxed and allowed my smoke amassed within me to percolate
smoothly through both my nostrils and partly open mouth. I thought to myself
Jeez; I'm a smoker, just like my mum. I stopped that big Merc outside dad's
pub and my dad started to get out. I stubbed my spent cigarette out in the
ashtray. Since I was to drive home, I immediately placed a fresh cigarette
between my lips and was about to dip my cigarette into my lighter flame when I
paused. My dad, half out of the car, had halted and he was looking at me. I
became unbelievable happy when my dad said "Drive carefully and er, go easy on
the cigarettes darling". Then he got out of the car.

Euphorically blissful, I sank the end of my white cigarette into the still
going flame pool and ecstatically drew in deeply on my very first to be
complete cigarette as a real smoker. I put the car into park but left its
6-litre engine running. I wanted to savour this first time. I tilted the rear
view mirror so I could watch the grown-up smoker, which was unbelievably still
me. Oh God kids; I loved what I saw. My lipstick stained filter still drifting
blue smoke moving towards my gloating red lips to be ravenously clasped by
them. Then seeing the grey end of my cigarette twitch as a glowing ring of red
heat moves its way down the white cylinder as I draw in. I remove my cigarette
from my red lips and I see a bluish grey opaque curtain of tumbling smoke
hanging between my partially open mouth. Mesmerized by this reflected image of
me I disbelievingly see it swept down my throat as I breathe it in. For a few
seconds I hold that warm smoke deep down inside me. I opened my mouth and
looked to see nothing but my white teeth and my pink tongue. Not one tiniest
wisp's of smoke in sight Then I breathe out slowly. I can feel my exhale
thickening past my throat. I purse my lips with an anticipatory smile and with
amazement see a faint funnel of smoke turn into a vast tornado of cascading
blue smoke all but obliterating my mirror view of me. Heart singing with joy I
pushed the Merc into drive and accelerated away.  


Of course that was ages ago. I'm twelve now. I don't need socks under my bra
any more and I'm a seasoned and proper smoker. I smell that sweet nicotine
smell that my twenty a-day smoking addictions give me. All my clothes smell
like mums and I love it, I really enjoy relaxing in my dad's car when I'm all
by myself driving. I know I am still a naughty girl, because I continue taking
the car for a good spin instead of taking it straight back to my dad's house.
I often drive over to York or Leeds and pick up Anita and we both smoke and
she drives too cos I taught her. Sometimes Anita and me pick up some of my
other schoolmates and I've decided to teach them how to drive once they can
smoke properly. Often my friend Anita who is only nine years-old drive cos out
of my friends, she is the best smoker.  When Anita is driving, I get into the
back seat and coach the others. I show them how to do french inhales and
double drags. I coach them on their talking exhales. When they are as
proficient as I am I will let them into the driving seat and drive me about. 

Mum doesn't know that I drive cars of course. If she knew I know she would
freak out. However, mum does continue to provide me with cigarettes. I think
she likes sharing company with another smoker. We certainly get along very
well these days. Mum has a boyfriend now. His name is Mark and she often goes
out for a whole evening having fun with him.  Me, I don't mind at all. Because
that's when I start having fun too. I take mum's car out and do lots of
serious driving. You see kids, I love driving nearly as much as I love
smoking, besides, I need to keep my hand in because Mark has a Ferrari and I'm
itching to drive it and with my cigarettes to keep me calm if it is as
intoxicating to drive as people say. 

OK kid's, I know I am a lucky little girl. After all I don't think there are
too many other girls aged twelve that smoke and drive like me.