Divide by two, Part 1

Divide by Two
Day 3
an4@anon.lelnet.com

I called Jean at 10:15. You have to wonder what I was doing. I sure did. My
focus was a little unclear. I wasn't expecting the invitation from Jean, and
I admit that I was thrown.

"Hey Jean."

"I'm glad you called."

"You asked me to."

"I hope that's not the only reason you picked up the phone."

"Let's see- terribly attractive younger woman gives me here phone number,
asks me to call her and- yes, it was just duty calling- literally."

I could hear her smile- almost. "Well, I know that you probably have to have
to be at school at seven am, but I was hoping that you might still have a
couple of hours of socializing left in you."

"I think that could be arranged. What did you have in mind ?" "Riley's is
doing techno night, and you said you like techno, so-"

"Do you want me to meet you there or pick you up ?"

"Well, I live on Barstow-"

"That's just two blocks from here. I have to make one stop first."

"Are you going to Rizzolli's ?"

"Yes." 

"Can you pick me up a pack of Virginia Slims 120s ?"

"Yes, I can do that."

"And something for yourself, right ?"

I told her that was why I was planning to stop. I understood that well
enough. I would certainly ask her, but I already knew- only two things had
changed. She had seen me with an attractive and somewhat interested woman-
yes, I thought vainly enough that Freya was interested- and I was right- but
she had also seen me smoking. They were both triggers, weren't they ?

I walked into Rizzolli's. The place wasn't empty. Old Man Rizzolli is an
ex-cop, so he never gets hassled, and his two daughters- they are 15 and 16,
both smoke. Everyone knows the place for teenagers to buy cigarettes and
stand around smoking, often with his daughters, is there.

I got a few looks when I walked in. There's that authority figures are the
devil thing working. I was invading their turf- after all, I'm not just an
adult- and when you're thirty, you are really an adult to teenagers-but I'm
also a teacher.

This doesn't bother me. We're supposed to maintain a certain distance from
the kids anyway and this makes it easier, although the coolest of them
understand that instead of being the enemy, we actually have something to
offer. Beyond that- well, beyond that are the kids who want something more
from us than we're supposed to give them, and those are the only ones that
I'm actually afraid of. 

I walked right up to the counter- no sense padding my purchase, and since
most of these kids smoke anyway, they aren't going to pay out much grief.

"A box of Virginia Slims 120s and a box of Marlboro Lights 100s." I also put
a lighter down on the counter. Old Man Rizzolli was manning the register and
he looked at me with a twinkle in his green eyes.

"Date ?" "Yes," I said.

"I keep the condoms behind the counter," he said as he rang up the cigarettes
and the lighter.

"I planned ahead on that one." Although I would forget all about that later.

I handed him a ten and got just a few pennies back, then I walked out of the
store. No one said anything to me but the looks I got were slightly less
hostile than before, which was good. I made no eye contact and got none in
return, because smoking is something that for the most part is a non-plus
event for me. There were other teachers in the bar earlier in the day and I
didn't mind them seeing me smoke, and it didn't bother me that the kids saw
me with the cigarettes. Nor did it excite me.

I got in the car and drove over to Jean's house. Now I was getting excited in
that nervous sort of way a man does when he thinks there might be something
about to happen. I knew the possibility of a sexual encounter with Jean was
very real- I had slipped a condom in my wallet, after all, But as a
pragmatist, I did not expect it. I simply acknowledged it as a possibility,
neither likely nor unlikely.

I walked up to the door. It was a two-family house and her door was on the
left. I knocked on the door as it started to move inwards. Jean was there,
smiling. She held out her hand as she said hello and I put the cigarettes in
her hand. She tore off the cellophane, stuck it in her pocket, and pulled out
a lighter. She lit up as we walked to the car. 

When we settled in, she saw my pack and she took the cellophane off that as
well. She pulled one out, placed it between her lips while adroitly holding
her own between the first two fingers of her left hand. She lit it, drew on
it, and then brought it my way. I let her place it between my lips, drew on
it, and she pulled it away. I then reached across with my left hand, looking
at her holding in each hand and smiling at me as I took it from her.

"I'm glad you called."

"I'm glad you asked," I said and she heard the  but in my voice as I
concentrated on backing out off her driveway.  "But why not before tonight ?"

I had rolled our windows down. It was a warm spring night- I would have
rolled the windows down anyway, but it seemed more natural. I trimmed the ash
out the window. I don't believe in dropping butts all over the place, but a
little ash never hurt anything.

"Exactly."

"I've had a crush on you for while now, Christi. I know that you think I've
just been flirting with you to get a good tip."

I wondered if I had insulted her, but she kept talking- and smoking. I was
trying to look her way enough to be polite without staring at her while she-
talked.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, C-"

From that moment on, she called me C. I don't know what caused the change.

"What do you mean ?" "Well, I don't need to flirt with you anywhere near as
much as I do to get a good tip from you, because you're a nice guy. You tip
well because you appreciate what I do. So all that flirting was about you,
C-"

"Still-" She drew deeply on her cigarette. We were at a stoplight, so I was
able to watch her smoke. Yes, I was watching her smoke. I'll tell you a
little secret. I had starting thinking about it earlier in the day. You see,
I had never dated a woman who wasn't a smoker. I was shocked when I realized
it. The truth is, I've only dated eight women in the 15 years that I've been
sexually active, so it's a small sample size. And one of every three women in
my dating rage smoke, more or less- I think it's closer to thirty eight
percent, but the reason I was an English major and not an history major was
that I didn't like statistics.

I have to imagine that eight is outside one standard deviation. I could be
wrong, but hey-

"Well, seeing you with a beautiful woman and smoking- well, I thought now was
the right time. She is interested in you, you know that, right ?"

"Oh come on. That was the first time we've ever been out together. We're
going to be required to spend some time together so we thought it best to
determine whether or not we can tolerate one another."

"Well, I think that you've ruled out being hopelessly incompatible."

"I suppose. But I'd rather not- well, that wasn't a date and this is."

"Fair enough. But the main reason I asked you out was because I realized that
I really wanted to and I had waited- maybe too long. That- that and you were
smoking."

"You don't date guys who don't smoke ?" We pulled up to another stoplight.
This was a long one, so I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and Jean
followed suit. She didn't answer right away- instead she picked up my pack of
cigarettes.

"Would you like to share one ?"

I liked that idea a lot. It's something that my sister and I do occasionally.
I nodded and she lit up. Drawing deeply, she handed the cigarette to me,
turning to face me and exhaling. Her smoke was sweet, intoxicating.

"No, I don't date guys who don't smoke. It's too much of an hassle, you know
?" "I don't know much about dating guys," I said evasively as I handed her
back the cigarette and the light turned green. I turned to face her as I
spoke and repaid her exhale with one of my own she seemed to enjoy.

She laughed at my slight joke. "You're so fucking cute. I hope I get to take
you home with me. But I'm serious. Do you date women who don't smoke ?"

I don't know what made her ask the question and I didn't think to answer it
with a question of my own. Sometimes honesty is a trap, and I was in one. But
I answered as I took the cigarette from her again. I was getting a little
hard, to be honest. Sharing a cigarette with an attractive woman is a very
sensual thing. I think it almost has to be sexual, putting your mouth around
something that has been in her mouth as well.

"I was thinking about that today. I guess I don't." I then compounded the
simple mistake with a more egregious one. "It probably started with my
sister. She and I shared a room and she was a committed smoker."

"Wow. I can't even think about how loaded that revelation is- do you have any
idea what you're saying ?"

One trap had sprung. I was about to find out how tightly it was about me.

"What are you ? A psychiatrist ?"

Boy was that the wrong question.

"I'll be getting my masters in educational psychology in June."

"I had no idea," I said, taking the cigarette from her. Jean doesn't wear
lipstick, which is the way I like it, but the filter was slightly moist from
her. I wanted to kiss her. Instead, I took a pull on the cigarette and handed
it back. She was smiling even as she closed her mouth on the cigarette again
and went back to driving, although it was hard to drive hard.

"I suppose you're wondering why we shared a room."

"It depends on for how long you shared it-" she said as she exhaled. 

I looked at her again. Her eyes were bright and smiling through tight, thin
black wire frame glasses which made her look every bit the studious type,
especially with her black hair pulled back into a pony tail. She is so young
and alive and everything a thirty year old man could want.

"Right up until she went to college."

She drew again on the cigarette and it was gone. She mercilessly lit another,
held it in her mouth for two drags, and just when I would have found that
slightly unattractive, she took it from her mouth and put it mine- she held
it there for me to draw, exhale, and draw again. Then it was back to her.

"Can I ask why ?"

"Well, mom and dad were both professors at Trinity and they had an housing
programme for married faculty. We drew a three bedroom house when Lauren was
six and I was five, I think. We lived there until after I went to college.
Anyway, there was one bedroom for the rents, one for us, and-"

"One for your parent's books, right ?"

"Exactly. Once Lauren hit puberty they assumed that we would want separate
bedrooms, but we didn't mind and to be honest, there was nowhere else for
their book, so we just stuck it out."

"And she started smoking when she was ?" Jean asked, handing me the
cigarette.

I drew on it. "Fifteen. Mom and Dad let her smoke at home from the time she
was sixteen."

"And did you and she ever-"

I almost dropped the cigarette before she could take it from me.

"Jean !"

"Be honest," she said. She was just as cheerful as ever and I found myself
telling her things I had never told anyone. Something I can't believe I'm
writing down.

"We used to get one another off. Once or twice a month. It seemed innocent
enough-"

Jean exhaled, smiled, handed me the cigarette again, I can't tell you how
much I was enjoying myself.

"I'm sure it was. Did she smoke while-"

I exhaled and returned the cigarette to the person in the car who looked best
holding it.

"Yes. I didn't but she always did."

"Did you kiss ?"

"A little. But she wasn't the first smoker I-" And then I was telling her
about Tammy. By the time I was done, I was wondering about my own sanity and
smoking one of two cigarettes that Jean had just lit. Maybe it was all the
smoking or maybe Jean is just good at what she does, but I was telling that
story for the second time in one day and jonesing for Jean at the same time.

"I'm impressed. I was twenty before I had rebound sex."

I sensed an opportunity here. "Tell me more."

"It was my best friend's boyfriend-"

"Your ex best friend ?""

Her exhale in the warm night air filled an area of an half dozen people with
smoke. No one seemed to mind. They were all women, all smoking. I was
enjoying myself quite a bit.

"Oh no. I was the maid of honour at her wedding. It was all very contrived.
Jill was dating this guy Jonas but she wanted to date this guy Mark. Well,
Jonas has the same smoking fetish that you and I have-"

I started at this for a variety of reasons and she stood on her tip-toes and
planted a very deep kiss on my mouth. God, I wanted her so bad right then and
there was no chance I would argue with truth of what she had just said.

"But with Jonas, he had something else. A cigar fetish. I've always loved a
good cigar and I made a play for him and he bit."

"And Jill and Mark ?"

"They married. Only it turned out that Mark smokes cigars too and eventually,
what with the four of us double-dating, Jill- well, it had a fine ending for
her, but not for me."

Believe it or not, I was following all this. "Pretty soon you were all
smoking cigars together and-" "It was the wedding that did him in. I think
that he was always still in love with Jill. Anyway, Mark and Jill lit these
long thin celebratory cigars right before we started the reception line. He
came through and the look on his face- that was our last date."

"I'm sorry," I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.

"Don't be." She said, leaning into me. "Three and an half years of great
times from a rebound is not bad and Jonas and I- he's dating the high school
cheerleading coach at West Central High, and I'm dating you," she said, only
slightly presumptuous.

"Do you think that maybe the wedding scared him a little bit, too ?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm sure that even though I told him I didn't want to get married until
I'd had a least a couple of years to get grounded in my profession, well,
yeah."

"And how's that going- finding a job ? Starting to get nervous or do you have
something lined up ?"

"Well, I'm interning with a company now that's going to hire me. You might
have heard of them. Edupsych."

"They're the one's running the conference that I'm going to next week and-"

"You and Freya were put together in an hotel room because some administrator
didn't realise that Christi is a man's name. This is too ironic."

I started to laugh. I didn't understand or I might not have.

"So you think that it's funny, too."

"Actually, I was thinking about those wedding pictures. They would be great
on the internet. I'm sure there are plenty of guys who would pay to see a
pretty bride- I'll assume she is pretty- smoking a cigar in a wedding dress."

"Well, they're out there, but they are free. And they are killer. I'll have
to show them to you."

We got in pretty soon after that, but we didn't stay long and while I enjoyed
dancing with Jean, it's not really worth writing about. We danced slow, and
we danced other ways and I got plenty of looks from jealous guys, so it was a
lot of fun, but I'd rather focus on the sex that we had afterwards. That's
worth a paragraph or two.

We went back to her place because it was closer and because she was more than
a little tipsy. Working in a bar, she doesn't get to drink very often. Go
figure. I have to mention here in the spirit of honest disclosure that I had
never had drinks with one woman at 3 in the afternoon and sex with another at
midnight, especially two women s entirely beautiful, but this was something
that I soon learned I was going to have to get used to. Things were only
going to get more interesting and I'm glad that my regular regimen of working
out had prepared me.

We didn't waste a lot of time on small talk. Jean had told me that she liked
the real intercourse part of sex to last and the best way to do that was to
warm us up first.

"Have you ever had a blow job while smoking ?" she had asked me in the car. I
said yes, but that it had been a while. She led me upstairs to her bedroom,
her hand warm and sweaty and insistent. I wanted very badly to do whatever
she asked. We stripped down to our bare essentials and she lit a single
cigarette from my nearly empty pack. Drawing on it once, she handed it to me,
out an ashtray on the bed, and stopping only long enough to share a smoky wet
kiss, began to pleasure me.

I've never liked that phrase 'blow job'. It sounds too much like what Hugh
Grant gets in the back of a car. Too working girl. There was none of that
with this. Women often complain that men think of making love as something
which requires intercourse, but I give myself credit for knowing better.
Every gentle swirl of her tongue, every loving caress of her lips on the head
of my penis was love, in the simplest and purest sense. I blew the smoke from
each inhale directly at her as she'd asked me to do and I finished the
cigarette just as I came.

She swallowed. I don't get off on that the way some men do, but I do
understand it means a little more. We kissed after that and petted one
another. Her breasts alone would have made the rest of it worth the time and
effort. Some women have breasts which are works of genetic art and Jean falls
into this sensual category. Her erect nipples were so pleasant. I wasn't
playing with her breasts, I was immersed in them.

Then she lit one of her VS 120s and it was my turn. I slid down the length of
her warm waiting body and demonstrated one of the finer features of my own
love-making arsenal. She quivered and writhed and somehow still smoked
gracefully. I was wish I had pictures of it all, but-

I'll get to that.

She was very responsive and as she wrapped me in a smoky haze, I brought her
to a full orgasm that made me- vanity I admit- more than a little proud. She
finished her cigarette and immediately lit another. 

"Look in my nightstand."

I found a digital camera there. She told me to take some pictures of her and
I did. She smoked for me and I mixed photography and deep tongue kisses. I'm
passably competent with the camera and I took some excellent shots of her
lying naked and making love to the camera and me while she played with
herself. I got hard while doing it and by the time the cigarette was gone I
had taken some thirty pictures of her and was standing below the border at
full attention.

Then we made love the old-fashioned way. Having already come, and her having
had an orgasm at well, it went slow, but not slow in that awkward way. It was
slow in a steady and enjoyable way that I will always remember as one of my
favourite moments- although not my favourite one with Jean, I think. Still,
it's the sort of sexual memory I know in my later years I shall be able to
extract from the time and place and feel and luxuriate in.

I don't know that we had our orgasms precisely together. I think I came but
was able to continue until she shook beneath me like an overloaded washing
machine, only without the horrid banging.

I had seen a box of cigars next to the camera, and she reached into the
drawer as we engaged in post-coital kissing and somehow cut the end. Then we
separated and she lit the small-ring, long cigar. I watched her smoke it for
a moment, kissed her again, and shot the rest of the pictures the memory
stick would hold. When I was done, she started to give me an hand job.
Another term I'm not in love with, but what else do you call it ?

You needn't ask if I returned the favour.

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