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The Smoker

123

It's hard to be a smoker. First of all, it's a social class identifier. Beautiful people rarely smoke anymore. Working class people smoke, and if you smoke, odds are you are either working class, or from a foreign country.

Second, you have to put up with moralistic behavior from your friends and co-workers. You know what I mean.

Third, there's no place to smoke anymore! You have to go outdoors, stand more than 25 feet from a doorway. In winter, that can be a drag. You have to huddle to keep warm.

I love to smoke. It smooths me out. If I'm nervous, it calms me down. If I'm sleepy and bored, it picks me up. After a good meal, it's better than dessert. I have an oral fixation, and without smoking I would eat and gradually put on weight. Smoking keeps me thin.

It gives my hands something to do. And last, but not least, it's social: How many times have I joined someone going outside the building for a cigarette break? More times than I can count.

Finally, I can personally confirm that the rumors are true: There is nothing like a cigarette after sex. But good luck with that. You practically have to have sex outdoors these days if you want to smoke in peace after sex.

Okay, that's out of the way. Now for the story I want to tell you. Let me say up front that I'm a happily married woman professional. (Yes, I am one of those rare "beautiful people" who smoke. I should be in a museum, or a zoo, these days, I'm such an oddity.) My husband travels a lot on business, and since we do not yet have children, I am often alone.

I'm a college professor, so I am always working: grading papers, writing research papers, giving seminar talks, and most often listening to other people give seminar talks. When my husband is traveling, I hole up in my little study area at home and work on my research, or on preparing my lectures, or on grading students' essays and papers.

I smoke as I work, with a powerful fan behind me and the window open in front of me, so there is no dreaded tobacco smell when hubby comes home. I practically mainline Listerine in case my husband wants to kiss me. When I'm not working, and my husband Mark is traveling, I often hang out with Marlene. She is my best friend. Her husband Sam is tight with Mark, too. We all four go to the same church.

The night in question Marlene and I went out for drinks, to be followed by a meal. Well, it turns out my husband has, shall we say, dalliances while he is traveling on business. When he returns, he enjoys reliving them by recounting them to Sam, who gets way too much vicarious pleasure hearing about them.

Mark had a particularly spectacular adventure recently, apparently, and somehow Marlene got wind of what was going on. I was curious how she learned. Well, it turns out she does not trust Sam, and she has wired her own home! Also, it seems, she was right not to trust Sam. He is as loyal as a dog, but one who all too often catches the smell of a bitch in heat.

Marlene wanted to discuss her troubles, but when she let slip what Mark is up to when he travels, and that she has tapes of his recounting of his conquests to Sam, she kind of lost my attention: I went into shock.

We left the bar, and she stood with me, while I did my best imitation of a chimney. I smoked half a pack right then, right there. It helped, just not enough. I was too upset to think. Marlene could tell. She stood quietly with me, realizing she had given me quite a shock. She had assumed I knew already about my lying and cheating husband.

We went to dinner. I had a Vodka Collins to calm myself before dinner, and switched to wine with dinner. I'm a small woman, so I was fairly drunk at this point. During our dinner, which we now refer to as "The Dinner," we decided what to do. We would both play along, acting innocent and ignorant of our husbands' infidelities, and arrange our own dalliances. What's good for the gander, is good for the goose. Marlene and I are sexy geese. We could do this.

Being an academic, I go to conferences from time to time. There was one coming up in Chicago. It was easy to get Marlene registered for the conference, and she would pretend to be an academic. I was not at all sure how to go about this, but I was determined to step out with someone in Chicago, and Marlene felt the same way.

The first thing to do was to vary the academic uniform. I'm in literature, and not a scientist or an engineer, so the norm for my conferences is not totally dorky dress. The women usually look stylish and pretty, and so do the men, many of whom are gay. But not all of them of gay; not by any means.

A black pants suit and a blouse with a bow at the top is an armored look; it says I want to look nice, but men, please do not hit on me. A black suit with a skirt is friendlier, but the length of the skirt is key. Too long is dowdy, too short is inappropriate. Down to the ankles is the hippy look, but not if it's black.

For the friendly look, the blouse can show a little skin around the neck, but not too much, and it should be accompanied by an anal necklace of pearls.

I chose a red figure-hugging dress, with a slit in front, a plunging neckline, and a large gold cross on a long and heavy gold chain. The cross fell to in between my breasts. Trust me, for an academic conference, this was a huge statement. I did not even own such a dress; I had to buy it first, which I did.

When we got there, Marlene and I went to our shared room and we changed into our "come-fuck-me-now" outfits. I made my grand appearance at one of the welcoming cocktail parties most of the big universities throw. Marlene matched my outré appearance. We got complements exclusively from the few blacks there, and some of the gay men. The straight men and women noticed us all right, but mostly they just looked embarrassed by our attire.

The women there must have thought we were contagious. Anyway, they avoided us. The men were intimidated, and they also avoided us. The lone exception was Mike. I've known Mike for at least 6 years now, and we always enjoy each other's company at these meetings.

Mike was thrilled to see me, red dress or no red dress. He did not even mention it, but simply launched into a long monologue of praise about my recently published academic book. I do well with praise, and I smiled a lot. I did notice his eyes occasionally strayed to my cleavage, but they always quickly returned to my face. I introduced him to Marlene, and he took a double take.

"Where have you been hiding this little angel?" he asked me. I was thinking, what am I? Yesterday's soggy French toast? Marlene blushed but said nothing.

Mike continued, "Well Mary, you have your mystery siren. I have a mystery friend, too. Let's call him Zorro. How about a foursome for dinner tonight? Chicago has some great eateries." We nodded our assent.

"Oh and by the way, Mary, please stay in that dress! If you want to cheat on your husband, lose your bra, and Zorro will spend the evening under your thumb, and maybe even under you, if you are so inclined. I might, too!" I knew Mike was joking. It was his awkward way of telling me I looked pretty and, perhaps especially, sexy.

We agreed to meet in an hour to go to dinner. Mike said he would reserve at Spiaggia. I had heard of that restaurant, but I had never been there. It's expensive. But Mike works at Harvard, and he has access to all sorts of expense money when he travels, so I figured he would treat the four of us.

Marlene and I circulated, and we were running out of time. I spent the hour, while we were circulating and making small talk, to teach Marlene how to make academic small talk. She is a fast learner. Everyone would want to know where she worked. It would be a way to pigeon hole her, and they would know to treat her with respect, reverence, as an equal, with contempt, or with pity.

We decided we would say she was on a grant to do research in Hungary. Nobody knew Hungary, and nobody - NOBODY! - would know the Hungarian language. But Marlene did: her grandparents fled Hitler from Hungary, and her family forced all their children to learn Hungarian, even to this day. She has even twice visited Budapest.

Other than that, all she had to do was ask men what they were working on, and sit back and listen. Marlene was a good listener. I hoped she could stay awake.

When it was time to get ready for our "date," I remembered what Mike had said. If we want to cheat on our husbands, we should go without bras. I said to Marlene, "What do you think?"

"No bra for me then," she said. I smiled. Good for her. I had an internal debate, and my good angels lost. We both went without our bras. Luckily, we both have small boobs, so it was easy to do.

But the plunging necklines and the absence of bras meant that we were likely to tantalize the men all evening, assuming they like women's breasts. That is a safe assumption, in my experience.

We met the men at Spiaggia. It is a wonderful Italian cuisine restaurant, and Mike tipped the head waiter $20 and we got a table with a gorgeous view of the Oak Street Beach and of Lake Michigan. It was hugely romantic. I melted. So did Marlene.

I could tell Marlene was captivated by my old friend Mike. He was married, but then, so was Marlene, at least for now. That left Zorro for me. Zorro's real name was Fisher, but he had been called Zorro since childhood, and he still went by it. A first name of Fisher was not that tempting, anyway.

Zorro was a bore, but he had one good feature: He was practically drooling over me. He took every look he could down my blouse, he hung on my every word, and he told me that he loved my perfume. I felt as if I were dining with a puppy dog. But I enjoyed it, and I gave him lots of looks down my blouse. Some of them were good looks, too; I deliberately leaned forward at times to facilitate his study of my boobs. Probably he can describe my nipples in some detail at this point.

My brother used to say, when he was talking about girls and wanted to get my goat, "You don't fuck the face." Well, if you're an academic woman you fuck the mind. Zorro's mind was just not erotic for me. His mind was so standard; so formulaic. I need some imagination, a creative spark, if you will. It was a pity, really.

Mike I'm sure was ready to fuck Marlene's sexy body, and he could care less about her mind. Plus, as an added bonus, she has a pretty face, even if that's not what Mike planned to fuck, although these days you never know. Marlene just wanted revenge on her husband, and any man would do for her, and Mike was better than most. So that was a done deal. This was going to be awkward.

At the end of the evening, Mike and Marlene went to our hotel room. I was supposed to go to off with Zorro to his room, but I did not want to. I let him down easily, using the "I'm married" excuse, and he understood, or at least he pretended to understand. That left me alone, with no hotel room, and no place to sleep.

I went outside for a smoke to think and to figure out what to do. I think best when I smoke. I was presenting my paper the next afternoon, and I needed to get my beauty rest. I needed a place to sleep! As I was smoking, a man asked if he could join me. I said sure.

"Can I bum a cigarette? I just quit a few days ago," he said.

I offered him my package of Pall Malls and he extracted one. I lit it with the end of my cigarette, leaning forward and giving him a nice look down my dress as I did so. "Thanks angel. I'm Steve," he said. I liked that he called me "angel."

"I'm Mary," I said. "But you can continue to call me Angel. I like it." Making conversation, I asked him the obvious question: "How many times now have you quit?"

"Next time I quit will be my 13th," Steve said. I noticed he was good looking. "You here for the conference?"

"Yes, I'm speaking tomorrow," I said.

"You going to wear that dress when you speak?" Steve asked.

I laughed. "Date gone bad. Why, do you think I should?"

"Yes, it makes a statement. Unless, that is, you have a more impressive outfit for your talk?" Steve said, smiling fetchingly.

"I do, in fact. Come hear me, okay? I'm worried nobody will come to listen. There are so many parallel sessions here. And I'm opposite Duane Forest." Duane Forest is a superstar, and he draws a mob to any talk he gives. With reason: He gives great talks. I would go to his talk too, if I did not have to give my own talk at the same time.

"I'll come, if only to gaze at your beauty. I'll try to listen, but probably I'll just fantasize about bedding you," he said.

"You staying here? At this hotel?" I asked.

"Yes, room 1206," he said.

"Buy me a drink and put me up for the night, and you can remember bedding me, instead of fantasizing," I said. I was stunned at how forward I was being.

Steve said nothing more. We were both done smoking, and he took my hand and led me to the hotel bar. I had a Brandy Alexander, and he had Bourbon on the rocks. Neither of us spoke. We just looked into each others' eyes.

We took the elevator to the 12th floor, to room 1206. Suddenly I panicked. It was show time. Was I really going to commit adultery? Sure, my husband was unfaithful (quite a bit, according to his braggadocio on Marlene's secret tapes), but those were his sins, not mine.

I clung to Marlene's advice. "Get off on the sin. Sin is sexy. Everyone likes the forbidden." I figured she was currently getting fucked to smithereens by my old friend Mike; now it was my turn to let this new man Steve (whoever he was; Jesus, I knew next to nothing about him!) have his way with me.

Steve kissed me. I returned the kiss. Minutes later my gorgeous new come-fuck-me red dress was at my ankles, and I was still kissing Steve. As we kissed, I was wearing my watch, my earrings, my necklace, my heels, and my panties. Minutes later it was just my watch, my earrings, and my necklace.

Steve gently pushed me onto the bed. He spread my legs. Okay, I thought, the first time tonight can be missionary, but afterwards, I want more! I want to be out there, at the edge. Missionary I get at home. Constantly.

We had a wonderful time in bed together. Luckily Steve agreed with my suggestion, and we wrapped ourselves in the courtesy terrycloth robes and went to the hotel's sauna.

"I've never fucked in a sauna," I said. That was all I had to say. After the sauna, we went to the pool. Luckily, it was empty, and we went for a quick swim in the nude. That acted as douche, and I guess I left a lot of Steve's cum in the pool. Nice. After the swim, we wrapped ourselves up and headed back to the room.

We ran into one of Steve's colleagues en route to the room, and Steve introduced me to his friend Claus. Claus was visiting from Germany for the academic year. Claus and I began to discuss the merits of Martin Heidegger versus Jacques Derrida. Steve just listened, occasionally throwing in some Walter Benjamin. Steve invited Claus to room 1206 so we could continue the conversation, which was getting fairly animated.

Back in room 1206, Claus was fully dressed, but Steve and I were naked under our robes. Claus of course had no idea. He probably assumed we had swimsuits on. He did however see my red dress and panties pooled together on the floor at the foot of the bed. Even though he is in literature, he can add 2+2, and he blushed. Those German gymnasiums are thorough; they even teach addition.

Steve quickly saw what was going on. "Claus, you really have to see Mary in her dress," he said. I shot him a quizzical look. It was an unfriendly quizzical look. "Maybe you can help Mary to decide if she should give her talk tomorrow in it?"

"Oh, when is your talk, Mary?" Claus asked.

"Opposite Duane Forest's talk," I said.

"You poor girl. Nobody will be there!" Claus said, sympathetically.

"I will," Steve said. "You will too if you let Mary model the dress. Stand up Mary."

I stood. Then Steve sandbagged me and ripped off the terrycloth robe. I was standing there nude.

I was horrified and in shock. I gasped, and I covered my boobs and my crotch automatically. I fell into a crouch. I was also about to scream, when Steve handed me my red dress and I quickly turned around and put it on to cover myself in front of Claus.

I decided what the hell. I came to this meeting for sex, and so what if another man besides my new love Steve just saw me naked? It was not my fault. But another surprise awaited me. Claus came over and kissed me. I could see he had a large tent in his pants. Yet another surprise: I kissed back!

Twenty minutes and some discussion later, and I was again wearing only my watch, my earrings, and my necklace. I was on all fours on the bed, giving Steve a blowjob while Claus enjoyed my most intimate charms, via a rear entry. He had to agree that Derrida was more relevant than Heidegger before I let his cock enter me.

It was not fair. He would have agreed to everything and anything at that point. Men are simple slaves to lust.

Our threesome continued for a while, and then I announced it was time for Claus to go, because I needed my beauty sleep before I gave my presentation tomorrow. I now knew I would have an audience of at least two, and if Marlene remembered, maybe three people.

The next morning, I had a sleepy good morning fuck with Steve, and then I walked the walk of shame back to the room I shared with Marlene. We had texted, so Marlene was up to date that I had "found" another place to sleep, and she was organized enough for Mike and her both to be decent when I entered in my red dress, disheveled and smelling of sex.

Mike had the satisfied smile of a man who had just laid a sexpot. He also checked me out in my just-fucked state. I must have looked lewd, and Mike enjoyed seeing me like that, I could tell. Marlene sported a guilty smile. I am a lit professor and not a rocket scientist, but I knew what had happened between her and my old friend Mike.

I said, "I'll explain later," and I headed straight for the shower. Half an hour later I emerged from the bathroom and Mike was gone. Marlene and I had a long talk. She could not believe I had had a threesome with two men I did not even know!

"Wow, Mary. You're letting out your inner slut! Good for you!" Marlene said.

"Not only did Claus fuck me, but I let him even after he tried to convince me Heidegger was on point. Can you imagine?" I said.

"Quite frankly, no, I can't," Marlene replied, giggling.

"Right back at you, my friend the tramp," I said, and we both giggled up a storm.

Then came what to wear. I had brought another sexy dress. No plunging neckline, but the dress was a seductive blue, and it crisscrossed my boobs, caressing my breasts, clinging to them. It hugged my ass so tightly that if there was an ass man in the audience, he would be happy. Maybe even very happy. I figure all men are breasts men, or ass men, or legs men. Probably my colleagues like all three aspects of the female form. And my form in that dress is about as female as it gets.

I had the breasts and the ass covered. For the legs, there was a long slit up the side all the way to my hip (or so it seemed), so there were nice flashes of legs as I moved about. I modeled it for Marlene, and she said, "Lose the bra; let's see how it looks."

I removed my bra. I had Marlene take a picture with the bra and without the bra. I looked at the pictures, and decided no bra was just too over the top sexy for an academic talk. Marlene and I argued, so I texted Steve, sending him the two pictures. Steve wrote back the following:

"Only Mike, Marlene, Claus and me will be there anyway, Mary. No bra is my advice."

It figures, I thought. It's not his career on the line. Still, I went bra-less. Marlene did too, in solidarity, but she was just to be in the audience.

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