Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 All's well that ends well

   When I came home that day, Lea didn't greet me at the door like she did
every day.  Usually she would hear my car and wait for me right behind the
door to give me a welcome back home hug and a kiss.  I didn't give it much
thought then, after all she may have been busy and jump in later.  Not this
time.  She just sat there on the coach brooding and hardly looked up when I
entered the living room.  I noticed a post card on the table in front of
her, but didn't give it much attention.  She hardly answered my joyful
"Hi". After three month of living together I knew better than to press the
issue.  Even before she moved in and we were just dating, she had on
occasions fallen into a depressive mood, but usually her dark mood hadn't
survived the day.  She would be especially nice to me on the next day.  Yet
I felt this time was different.

   I had met her half a year earlier in the most common way a man can meet
a woman, at a coffee shop.  We sometimes used to make fun about the
similarity to a movie we both liked, where a guy meets a woman at a coffee
shop and they instantly fall in love to each other.  Unlike in the movie,
we managed to keep in touch after that half an hour we had spent chatting
in front of a couple of cappuccinos.  Our conversation had started over the
fact that smoking had been banned from the shop and how good that was. 
Being a non-smoker myself I agreed enthusiastically, even thou I had my
secret reasons to regret that I couldn't watch women smoke over their
coffee anymore.  Well, she was such a cutie, I would have agreed to
anything she said.  I fell for her the moment she started the conversation.
She was a petite young woman with a lovely face, the kind I like the most.
Not a Barbie like doll face, but with features denoting both intelligence
and a sort of shyness that raised my protective instincts.  Everything on
her was petite but lovely, her breasts, her hips, her miniature feet,
enabling her to buy her foot wear from the children's department, as well
as her clothes.  Within half an hour we found that we had many things in
common, like our preference for sappy movies, for certain kind of music and
who knows what else.  One thing had struck me from the first time I met
her. She tended to a sort of nerviness I couldn't place.  On recurring
intervals she would get restless, rubbing her palms or walking around with
her hands tucked under her armpits, drinking one glass of water after the
other.  Nobody's perfect so I accepted that.  She had such a lovely
character otherwise and she turned out to be such a perfect match for me,
that after three month of going out and staying over at each other's
places, she gave up her apartment and moved in with me.  She worked for a
number of magazines and most of the time she did her work on her computer
at home.

   I did my best not to disturb her that evening.  We ate together mostly
in silence and after a futile attempt to watch TV, we retired to the
bedroom.  We both read novels till she reached for the switch of her lamp,
another thing that we had in common, the passion for reading at night in
bed.  She would be the first one to go to sleep, but I always switched off
my own reading light when she did.  It had been a busy day and I fell
asleep the moment the light was out.  In the morning I woke up to find the
place beside me empty.  This had never happened before.  I have always been
an early riser and she would usually stay in bed long after I had made
coffee and had breakfast or left for work on weekdays.  I went down to the
kitchen, curious what had driven her out of bed.  The first thing that
struck me was the smell of cigarette smoke.  I couldn't believe it.  The
kitchen was filled with the haze of fresh cigarette smoke and I saw her
standing there with a smoked down cigarette in her hand.  I was speechless.
Ever since I had first met her, she had acted like a total anti-smoker.  By
the way she took the last drag from her cigarette, the way she inhaled and
exhaled before extinguishing the stub in the sink, I could see this wasn't
the first time she smoked.  She had the typical style of a long time
smoker. I couldn't bring out a word.  My hormones were boiling over.  I was
torn apart inside.  One half of me wanted to jump on her, suck in her
breath, kiss her, and rape her.  The other half was horrified by exactly
those feelings, afraid my attraction to female smokers would turn me into a
rabid beast.  I fled in terror to the bathroom.  Numbed by my conflicted
feelings, with an ice-cold lump growing in my stomach, I stepped under the
shower.  It had happened before and it didn't fail to happen now.  Within
seconds I jerked off.  Yet I felt sick of it all.  Within minutes I had
finished the rest of my morning program and after a superficial shave I
almost ran out of the house and drove off to work without even a cup of
coffee.  I must have had a guarding angel, as I hardly saw what went on
beyond the windshield.  The recurring image of Lea sucking on the stub of
her cigarette, inhaling and exhaling a thick plume of smoke was all I saw
before my eyes.  The hours at work dragged on endlessly.  Finally I could
leave, but where to?  I just couldn't bring myself to go straight home.  I
felt incapable to look Lea in the eyes.  So I left the car at the company
and went to the place that had once, till half a year ago, been my private
watering hole.  It was a bar not far from where I worked, Crazy Joe's.  It
was by no means crazy, just a bar like many, not yet touched by the
spreading smoking ban.  At the counter I met Jake, the bartender.  He was
practically part of the inventory.  Whenever I had been there, he was
behind the counter, cleaning glasses and serving people.  With a pleased
smile he greeted me. 'Long time no see, buddy' was his welcome speech. 'Hi
man.  Yeah, it's been some time.' he didn't press the matter further.  Like
a real good barkeeper, he never asked too many questions.  Instead his ears
where like black holes, absorbing everything one told him.  I ordered
double Bourbon.  He raised one eyebrow, but served me without a comment.  I
gulped down half of the drink.  It had surprised him, as in the old days I
had been drinking mostly beer.  Yet he didn't ask any questions.  Finally
it was me who broke the silence.  Apart from an occasional beer I don't
drink much, so even half the drink went straight to my head.  No wonder, I
hadn't eaten much all day.  The lump of ice that had installed itself in
stomach took good care of my appetite.  'Hey Jake, do you still have that
record?  The one with the way home?' I asked Joe.  It was a song we both
liked and he used to play it for me on and off.  Whenever I was in a blue
mood I loved to hear sad ballads and songs back from my high school days.
Show me the way just seemed the thing I needed

   Show me the way to go home,

   I'm tired and I want to go to bed.

   I had a little drink about an hour ago... When I was in the mood, this
song never failed on me.  Jake and I always ended with moist eyes after
hearing the first part of it.  The virile but also incredibly sensitive
voice of Greg Lake all but finished me off.  It took the rest of my drink
to help me regain my composure.  I pushed the glass towards Jake and he
refilled it on the spot. 'This one's on the house, Pete.  You look like you
need it badly.' 'You bet.' I didn't feel like talking.  Not yet. 'Hey man.
I haven't ever seen you down like that before.' another gulp of the Bourbon
and suddenly I needed to share my grief with Jake.  The bar was practically
still empty.  Too late for the drink after works and too early for the
night flies. 'Oh, what the heck.  I might as well tell you.  But it's a
long story.' 'I ain't going nowhere, not till two in the morning anyway.'
So I started to tell him.  Maybe not quite all of it, but enough.  Over the
years we had sometimes been into the issue of sex and smoking.  I hadn't
revealed the intensity of my feelings ever before to him.  He wasn't
feeling the way I was about women and smoking, yet he too admitted that a
woman can look extremely sexy when smoking.  The alcohol removed most of my
inhibitions and I told him.  About how miserable my puberty had been, how I
never had succeeded to find a girlfriend till late in college, how smoking
always mingled up with my love life.  I had tried with non-smokers.  I had
tried to fight my feelings for female smokers.  I had acted as a militant
anti-smoker, even thou my heart cried out for girls that smoked.  Yet most
of the non smoking girls I had met seemed so plain and unattractive. 
Kissing them never did much to me.  Then, when I gave in to my feelings and
started to date smokers I made a complete ass of myself.  Either I was so
hot and uncontrolled I scared them off, or the only thing attractive on the
girl was her smoking, so I grew tired of her after a few dates.  Then again
I tried it with non-smokers.  That may have worked out, as over the years I
had grown more self-confident.  I had been a late bloomer in my virility.
Earlier to my twentieth birthday I saw myself as an unattractive slob and
the girls sensed that.  The better looking ones never gave me a second
glance.  As I grew out of my gawky appearance, I dared to try it with some
good looking ones too.  Yet when I finally got one into my bed, I often
failed bitterly.  Till the day I met Lea.  She was all I had dreamt off. 
She was incredibly cute and lovely and she didn't smoke.  She had been very
patient with me and after a few futile attempts we managed to make love
quite successfully.  She never complained and even if we never had the fuck
of the century thing, love making with her had been most satisfactory to
both of us.  From the first time I managed to stand my man with her we had
always reached our orgasms both and if not simultaneously, still close
enough.  It was the best I could hope for.  Till now. 'Oh man, you sure got
a problem!' Jake exclaimed.  'But tell me one thing.  What bothers you?  I
mean let her smoke.  Isn't that what always turned you on in women?  You
say you love her, why don't you just go home, take her in your arms and
tell her you don't mind?  Maybe in time you can even confess the whole
truth to her.' 'I wish it were that simple.  First of all, I fear to loose
control.  I can't just jump on her every time she lights up.  Things don't
work that way.  She may not be in the mood for love making and I run around
with my flag pole up all the time.  Then I don't know if I want to live in
a smoke filled house.  I just don't know how to react.  I love her too much
to want to degrade her to an object of my unnatural lust.  I have once made
a total ass of myself trying to explain a girl how I felt about her
smoking. She never spoke a word to me again.  I don't want to loose Lea
that way.  Besides she cheated on me in a way.  She hasn't just picked up
smoking today.  She must have been quite a smoker before.  I'm pretty sure
she has never smoked since I met her, I would have smelled that, but the
way I've seen her smoke, no way she's a first timer.' 'Did she tell you she
never smoked?' 'No, actually it was I who assumed she never smoked, the way
she talked about smoking and how she always avoided to even getting near
the smoking areas in restaurants.  At parties she always kept away from
smokers as best as she could.  But true enough I never asked if she had
ever smoked.  I must have been afraid of the answer, I guess.  The natural
cause for her avoiding cigarette smoke never occurred to me till today. 
She was simply afraid of a relapse.  Something must have happened yesterday
that threw her off the track.' 'C'mon man, go home and make up with her. 
If you love each other, you'll find a way.  You can help her quit again and
you'll be happy together.' 'If it were that easy!  Now that I know she is a
smoker, I don't want her to give up.  I'm disgusted and enchanted at the
same time.  Gimme another drink.' 'I'll give you a last one, but that won't
solve your problem.' right he was. I took a cab home.  It was late and I
didn't even see her.  The house smelled of stale smoke.  She must have
smoked the whole day.  Yet part of me loved the smell.  I fell on the couch
and slept thru.  I had weird dreams of her kissing me, smelling deliciously
of smoke and some time I dreamt of making love to her.  The wetness in my
pants woke me up at first daylight.  My head was killing me.  A handful of
aspirins and a long hot shower turned me half ways into a human again, even
thou the pain had just moved from my head into my stomach.  Luckily I found
some clean clothing outside the bedroom.  I just couldn't meet eyes with
her.

   The day passed easier then the one before.  This time the evening
approached faster then I wanted.  I didn't want to get drunk again, so I
just wondered around a couple of hours, yet I had to go home sooner or
later.  I decided to take the bull by the horns.  I found her where I
should see her mostly the next days, near the sink in the kitchen, smoking.
I mumbled a faint greeting.  On her face I could make out a mixture of
feelings, partly guilt, partly defiance and a deep sadness.  She didn't
look me in the eyes.  I noticed a carton of Marlboro Reds 100 on top of a
cupboard.  It was torn half open and I couldn't but to notice it was half
empty.  She must have smoked at least four packs and started on the fifth
in two days.  A wave of heat passed over me and I cursed my fate. 
Sometimes in the past I had wet dreams on having a lover or even wife that
would smoke two or three packs a day.  The idea never failed to help me
jerk off in no time.  Yet now, confronted with the reality things were
different.  I was still half aroused half horrified.  I left her there and
went upstairs to move my stuff to the spare dormitory.  Either way I looked
at it, I couldn't sleep in the same room with her now.  I was afraid of
assaulting her as much as I was afraid of starting a fight.  But how the
room smelled!  The wonderful flavor of stale smoke.  She must have smoked
in bed too.  What a dream!  Yet I saw no way of going for it.  Already she
must think I was mad like hell at her.  How should she know that her
smoking was giving me hell?  One minute I was ready to lift her in my arms
and kiss and hug her, the other I was prepared to tell her it's all over.
Two other days passed like this.  Sometimes she would give me a look like
she was on the verge of starting to talk to me, but she never actually
tried to and neither did I.  We circled around each other without the
courage to speak up.

   Then the weekend came, our usual shopping day.  We had settled into a
routine of making a tour to the mall, buying all the supplies for the next
week and having lunch at the food court.  This Saturday I went to the
kitchen to fetch some coffee.  Like always the kitchen was filled with
smoke and she was at her usual place near the sink, smoking.  The carton of
Marlboros lay crumpled in the dust bin, so she had finished another five
packs in past two days.  I managed to press out a Good Morning and went for
the coffee maker.  The kitchen being rather smallish, I brushed her
unintentionally when I passed her.  The touch sent an electric discharge
thru my body, the likes I had never felt before.  Yet I just took a couple
of deep breathes, involuntarily getting a full load of second hand smoke.
My dick twitched.  Still I found enough composure to calm down again.  I
helped myself to a cup of coffee and then with as much of an even voice I
could bring up, barely whispering, I asked her if she wanted to go
shopping. She nodded.  She didn't smoke in the car, but as soon as she
stepped out of the car in the parking lot, she had a cigarette going and
smoked forcefully till we reached the entrance.  Without noticing I
hesitated on the way, to give her time to smoke up.  This came quite
naturally, as if we had done that all the time.  We made out shopping,
speaking only when necessary.  On our way out, she stopped at a tobacco
shop and bought three cartons of cigarettes.  Another shockwave thru my
body.  She meant it!  It hadn't been just a side step.  Well, things
couldn't have been worse anyway.  Of course she lit up as soon as we were
outside.  She smoked while we packed our stuff in the trunk and she smoked
while I pushed the shopping cart back.  She was on her second cigarette
when I came back.  I stood there beside the car and gave her the time to
finish her cigarette after which we returned home.  Neither of us had made
a move to go for lunch at the food court.  The thought that smoking was not
permitted inside and it wasn't yet warm enough to stay outside passed my
mind as naturally like I had been living with a smoker for years.  The car
filled with the smell of her.  Even thou she wasn't smoking inside, she
still had all the aromas on her and it overwhelmed me.  I hoped she
wouldn't notice, but I had a hard one, palpitating against the zipper of my
pants.  I had to clutch the wheel hard, as my hands were shaking and I was
lucky no policeman saw me, as I drove more than unsteady.  I had my eyes
glued to the windshield and somehow I managed to calm down sufficiently
till we arrived home.  The bulge in my pants had softened up and I hoped it
would go unnoticed.  Somehow we managed to carry all the stuff inside
without talking and without getting near to each other.  After we finished,
she made something that yet again surprised me.  I had just finished
filling up the fridge, when she came in, burning cigarette in hand.  With a
loud thump she placed a bottle of vodka on the table.  Then she reached for
two glasses and said with determination. 'This can't go on.  We've got to
talk.' she poured herself a stiff drink and gulped down almost half of it.
I stared in disbelief.  I had never seen her drink alcohol before.  Still
staring at her, I reached for the bottle, filled my glass and drank of it.
'Don't stare like that.  You don't really know much about me.  I'm not the
clean little girl you thought you know.  I tried to be one, not on behalf
of you, but try I did.  I smoke and I drink.  I bet I can drink you under
the table.' her voice had an almost nasty undertone, like she was
deliberately trying to sound like a bad girl.  Yet it didn't sound like her
real self. 'Now I did it to you.  You're disgusted.  I've ruined
everything, I know, but I just couldn't live like that any more.  Something
happened that thru me off the track.  I love you like I've never loved any
man before, but my old self took over.  I had a piece of bad news and I
just had to have a cigarette.  That did it, now I'm on my three packs a day
again and I don't want to go thru the ordeal of quitting again.  I'm sorry.
It's not a question of will.  I just can't.  The ugly truth is, I started
at fourteen and have smoked three packs a day for ten years, till eight
month ago, when I decided to quit.  There's no way I can bring up enough
will power to do it again.  I had my reasons then, but now it's different.
I know you'll throw me out.  You're such a clean man.  It'll brake my heart
and I'll probably smoke myself to death after this, but I don't know what
else to do.' she paused to refill her now empty glass and drank again.  Her
eyes swam.  She didn't cry, but I could see she would soon.  She sat there
slumped in her chair, miserable, waiting for my verdict.  'All I ask you is
to give me some time till I find a place to live in.' I drank more vodka
too.  I don't really like vodka, but it helped somehow.  I was half drunk
already.  I don't know if it was the alcohol or if the fetish side of me
had gained over the reasonable one, but then and there it happened.  I
couldn't let her go.  Was I insane?  I loved her and what if she was really
a bad girl?  Her smoking just made her a thousand times more attractive to
me.  So what?  Maybe she had secretly dreamt of a bit more passion herself.
Somehow there always had been the slightest hint of a volcano of passion,
hidden under that blanket of a nice good girl.  What if?  Was I to drive
away the maybe single chance of my life to have both a loving companion and
a smoker that drove my hormones thru the roof?  What was wrong with that
after all?  I did the only thing that I hoped could save us.  Without a
word I stood up.  I went over to her side of the table, waited till she
inhaled, then bent down and started to kiss her.  She was taken completely
by surprise and tried to draw away, but I held her head against mine and
she finally gave in and opened her lips.  That kiss blew our minds.  In no
time we were tearing on each others clothes and finally she was naked on
the floor and I on top of her.  Somewhere on the road she had stubbed out
her cigarette, but I groped for her cigarettes and the lighter and placed
one between her lips.  She looked at me almost shocked. 'You really want me
to do this?' I nodded.  Her eyes filled with tears, but she accepted the
light and took one endless drag.  She must have sucked the smoke in
undiluted.  She sealed my lips with hers and we kissed again like mad,
sucking at each other, smoke drifting out between our lips, out of her nose
and into my own mouth.  My erection was so strong now I couldn't but to ram
my dick into her.  To my surprise she was as wet as she could be.  In less
than a minute I shot off.  She hadn't even been near an orgasm, but the
smile that transfixed her face was worthy of an angel.  I had never seen
her radiate like that.  She gave me a slight peck on my lips and said: 'Is
this the way you tell me, you don't mind I smoke?' her voice was hoarse
with suppressed emotion.

   'Darling, it's not a question of minding or not.' and there I went.  I
had to tell her all of it.  'I have loved you before, but seeing you smoke
drives me nuts.  I can't help it.  When a woman smokes, she looks a lot
sexier to me.  Geesus, girl!  Ever since I saw you the first time smoking,
I hardly cold hold my self.  I could have raped you then and there.' she
gave me the sweetest look. 'Oh my Dear, you couldn't ever rape me.  You
have just to look at me and I'm wet.  If I have to smoke to turn you on, so
much the better.  I am a compulsive smoker anyway, I know that now.  Maybe
it was good I had quit, else maybe we wouldn't have met, but now that I
know you don't hate me for that, the only thing I have to fear I'll have to
give it up for health one day.  Till then, you are my smoking master.  I'll
smoke whatever and whenever you want me to.' She kissed me again.  She had
gotten the message and from then on, every passionate kiss of her was also
a smoky kiss.  In a matter of minutes my flag pole was up again.  This time
I stood my man.  She finished six cigarettes till we were both riding high.
The sight of her struggling to drag on her cigarette while she was on the
verge of an orgasm drove me crazy.  When my orgasm sat in I almost fainted.
She too was crushed.  The cigarette but she had dropped burned a whole in
the floor of the kitchen, but little did I care.  'Will it always be like
this?' she asked, still panting. 'I don't know, but even half of it is a
lot better than the way it has been before your outing.' she asked me for a
cigarette and I gladly gave her one and a light too.  Her smile as I did so
drove away whatever remnants of dark clouds still lingered on my mind.
'Look honey, you have opened Pandora's box.  I have feared that one day I
will loose control when making love to a smoker.  I have had some
unpleasant experiences because of my love for smoking women.  It looks like
you are the cure for it.  You love to smoke and I love to see you do it. 
In fact I love all of it.  Even the way your breath smells, or your clothes
or your hair.' another smoky kiss from her was the answer.  Then she sat up
and said: 'Peter, I want to celebrate this.  Don't worry, I've never been
an alcoholic.  I never drank on a regular basis even before we've met. 
It's sometimes I just feel like getting drunk.  Right now I feel like
getting drunk with you.  Let's find out if alcohol can really remove all
inhibitions.' what was I to answer?  She would probably smoke more
intensely while drinking.  Alcohol works that way on most people. 
'Whatever you want, Dearest.' I kissed her, softly this time.  I sat on a
chair and took her on my lap.  We spent the afternoon drinking and making
love.  As we both got drunk, we went wilder and wilder.  I don't have a
very good recollection of all that happened, but I do remember some of it.
I know that at one moment she smoked two at once, then started to rip of
the filters from her cigarettes and finally she smoked a couple of
cigarettes up her nostrils, one in each nostril, blowing incredible amounts
of dense smoke.  We made love several times and even did some kinkier
stuff. I drank a lot but she drank more than me and at one point I had to
carry her to bed.  I fell at her side.  The morning was hell of course and
we both swore we won't do that again, yet neither of us regretted it.  Her
hangover couldn't keep her from smoking, even if she coughed a lot, as she
had smoked almost six packs of cigarettes the day before.  We spent half
the morning in a chaste embrace, dazed but happy.  When I felt strong
enough, I left her alone and went out, back to the mall.  The tobacconist
there had a seven on seven service.  Remembering how at times she had
dropped her cigarette during her orgasm, I bought a pack of tipped cigars.
Back home, we took a bath together.  The tub was way too small for any
special activities, we hardly could squeeze in both, but I wouldn't have
missed the sight of her smoking in the tub for nothing in the world.  She
decided to end my misery and smoking lustfully, she worked on me with her
free hand, till I jerked off.  Cleaned and refreshed I showed her what I
had bought.  I was a little afraid she would recoil, but she was delighted.
She confessed she had always been fascinated by cigars, especially by
tipped ones, as those looked more feminine in her eyes.  Well, we found
that one of those tipped cigars lasted thru an average love making.  She
could bite on the plastic tip and wouldn't drop it easily during her
orgasm. And an orgasm I gave her.  For whatever reason, I managed to keep
her up on her climax for endless minutes.  Again and again her vagina
convulsed around my dick while she inhaled drag after drag of the sweetish
aromatic smoke of the cigar.  This was heaven on earth.

   The years have gone and even if she has cut down a on her smoking, still
she turns me on like the first time I saw her smoke.  She loves my fetish,
she says, as it gives her leverage over me.  We got married soon after
those events and I haven't regretted a single day.  My house smells like a
burnt down tobacco factory and there are burn stains all over the floor in
every room, vestiges of dropped cigarettes or cigars during one of our
crazier fits of passion.  She has tried to fulfill each and every fancy of
mine.  Whether it was about a huge cigar, of a diameter that almost tore
her lips apart, a hookah, a briar or whatever form of tobacco smoke that
had ever crossed my mind, she would do it.  It almost felt like I would do
her a favor instead of the other way around.  I do recall one of the
weirdest things we ever did and that had been her own idea.  She had read
of a doctor from the 19th century in the Wild West, who had used cigars to
loosen up the sphincter of patients and that gave her an idea.  She said
she had always been sort of fascinated by an anal stunt, but had never
dared, also because she was afraid of the pain not so much for herself but
for me.  Reading that book gave her the idea with the cigar.  We never did
that again, but we had big fun that one time.  I still have the photo of
her bare backside with the cigar protruding from her little asshole. 
Sometimes when we're too tired to make love, which still is a rare thing,
we look at our private collection.  The picture with the "ass smoking" is
our favorite.  We can laugh for hours over it, but we do have others almost
as weird.  I never took up smoking in earnest, but I have often enough
puffed on stogies wetted with her juices.  In fact she turned to cigars
more and more, so much so, that she smokes cigarettes only in public, when
we go to one of the remaining restaurants or bars where smoking is still
possible, or at parties.  At home she prefers her tipped cigars.  They
smell a lot better than cigarettes, being made of flavored tobacco.  I love
the amount of smoke they produce and Lea loves them because they last a lot
longer than a cigarette.  Whenever I get hold of a real Cuban I get it for
her.  Looking at her how she puffs, then drags and finally inhales, holding
the smoke down a while, then exhales it right into my face, that never
fails to raise up my flag pole, regardless of how tired I am.

   She may have to suffer from her smoking one day, and with all that
second hand smoke, I might get it too, but we talk often about it and
neither of us regret it.  The love life we had because of this is a thing
few people will ever have.
   The End