Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, Part 12

   Saturday, the 17th of May

   After she recovered from her morning hack, she turned to kiss me and
said:
"I'm still longing for a ciggie, but I guess that's just in my head. 

Apart from that I don't feel all that bad." She said, still a little
breathless.  "Let's have some breakfast."

   Her breath still carried the nightly tar flavor so I still got turned
on, but I thought it wasn't the right moment to "surprise" her.  I would
make my move later.

   "Yeah, I'm flying.  Scrambled or boiled?" I asked.

   "Let me think.  I'm not really hungry, so just coffee for me."

   "Yes ma'm!" I said jokingly and stepped out of the bed.

   While I rummaged in the kitchen, Moira trotted in and sat heavily on a
chair at the table.

   "You know, old habits die hard.  I could kill for a ciggie right now."
She complained.

   "Oh, well, you don't have to go on with this.  I mean, you can take of
the stripes and then smoke up a storm.  It's up to you." I replied, half
hoping she'd give in.

   "No fucking way!  I'm gonna pull this through." She said with
determination.  "But you can get me those patches.  I think I could do with
a third one."

   "You sure?" I asked worriedly.  "I mean, the stuff is rather dangerous."

   "Hey, I'm a big girl.  I can take it.  Told you I've all but grown up on
nicotine.  At fourteen I sometimes used to party with elder people and
smoke a whole pack in one night on top of my usual pack during the day.  I
never got of sick from smoking.  I got drunk a few times and occasionally I
had to puke from alcohol, but never from smoking.  I even sucked down a big
cigar, inhaling it all the way, though I hated it and apart from a bit of
sweating and shaking, it didn't do me no harm.  That was on my fifteenth
birthday, by the way, shortly before... But that's another story.  Just
hand me that coffee and go get another patch.  "

   The sort of freaked me out a bit.  I had swapped the patches so she
believed to have the 25mg ones, each accounting for a pack a day.  But I
had swapped them for the 40mg ones, each totaling the nicotine in almost
two packs of full flavored cigarettes.  But, I couldn't admit what I had
done, so I had no choice.

   I kissed her on the forehead while sticking the third patch next to the
first two, on her tummy.

   "There Sweety, but watch out, if you feel anything strange, we'll have
to call nine one one immediately." I said, faking concern.

   My true intention was to get her body used to an even higher amount of
nicotine, so she would suck in the cigarettes with more greed and possibly,
maybe, take the road I hoped she would.  I got aroused by the mere thought
of her having something between her fingers that suited her size and color
better.  But it would take time.

   "Aaah," she sighed after a while.  "Guess that did the trick.  I'm
better now.  I even feel like..."

   She didn't have to finish, she couldn't anyway, as I already sealed her
lips with mine.  Inevitable, we landed on the notorious couch and we bumped
it for something like half an hour.  Considering that I wasn't driven by my
fetish, I did quite well and I could help Moira to more than one outburst
of ecstatic cries.  To tell the truth, my fetish had still been fed.  Her
breath, which I tried to catch as often as possible without being too
obvious, still was a smoker's breath, a bit changed, sweeter and with a
sort of buttery undertones, but arousing nevertheless.  The thought of the
nicotine overdose flooding her body wasn't in the way either, though I was
just a tiny bit concerned.

   "Hey, that was terrific." She exclaimed cheerfully.  "I still might need
some more proof you're not totally dependent on smoking to service a girl
properly, but you were fantastic."

   "Sure honey, just let me rest at your bosom for a while and I will be
happy to be of service once again." I teased, mocking the servile tone of
an old-fashioned gigolo.

   That sent her laughing but she did drag my head down to her bare
breasts. Well, though no match to smoke play, fondling her superb breasts
never failed to enchant me.  In fact, "before" she could always drive me
nuts by offering her cleavage for me to play with.

   "Sweety?" I asked in a sleepy tone.  "You think we could go outside and
just talk?  I mean, I would love to hear more of your bio, especially how
come you quit smoking and became a good girl."

   She took my face between her palms and kissed me hard.

   "If you don't mind I'm a little fidgety." She said.  "I mean, those
patches do kill the cravings very well now, I even feel a bit jumpy, just
like when had been smoking really too much, but on the other hand I'd still
love to have a ciggie.  Do you think..."

   "No way, Sweety.  We'll have the paramedics tromping all over the place
if you really try to smoke one on top of those stickers.  Even if you take
them off, you'll have to wait at least an hour till it's safe to smoke."

   "Oh well, if you say so, doctor." She said reluctantly.  "Just get a
couple of water-bottles and come outside."

   I did as she requested and we cuddled together on the canopy swing.  I
could feel how tense she was.  The Patches sure flooded her system with
nicotine, hopefully increasing her lust for smoking in the future, as that
was my plan, to prepare her for bigger "guns".  Though I had no idea what
my own reaction would be, I certainly craved for her to start on cigars,
even if only occasionally.  I' wasn't sure whether I wouldn't create a
monster that would actually disgust me in the end, but my fetish drove me
there and I couldn't really stop.  And then, though I felt that, smoking or
not, I was possessed by this dark Venus, she had committed about the worst
crime a wife could commit.  It still hurt and I had lost any inhibitions I
might have had.  I wanted to turn her into the ultimate fetish sex object
and to hell with tomorrow!  Some devilish voice kept whispering in the back
of my mind "Go for what you can, you don't know how long it's gonna last.
Tomorrow she might find a better stud and forget about you all together. 
Take what you can and take it fast."

   Of course there was still that part of me who cared deeply about her and
stopped me from get really crazy.  It kept me in balance, though a perilous
one, helping me to be careful in approaching my goal.  So, time for a
diversion.

   "Tweety?  Why don't you tell me some more about how you came to quit at
fifteen?" I asked, hoping it would help her get her mind off the cravings
for the next cigarette, despite all the nicotine circling round in her
blood.

   I knew well that patches alone weren't really effective without the
mental disposition.  The patches only killed the physical cravings,
preventing symptoms like shivering, sweating, dry throat or cramps.  Yet,
the desire for instant reward, fed by the sudden inrush of nicotine with
every inhale, was actually the main reason why only few smokers managed to
quit with the help of the patches, apart from the fact that applied in a
too high dose, patches could have the opposite effect, of reinforcing the
addiction.  In fact no substitute available was of actual help, I knew that
well, but I had on purpose chosen the least effective one, knowing that
Moira, having started as a child, had that reward pattern entrenched in her
psyche much deeper than smokers who started later in life.  However, she
had quit once, she might still be able to do it again, given the right
motivation and the right support.

   "Oh, OK." She started after a bit of brooding.  "I'm not particularly
proud of that part of my life, but I can't deny you that wish, not after
what I've done anyway.  I must beg forgiveness I lied to you about my
teenage years before.  I was so afraid you would turn away, I just couldn't
tell you the truth."

   "Sweety," I said after a big but not really sensual smooch on her lips.
"you don't know men that well.  We are always eager to forgive.  I took you
for face value, I could see what and how you were and that wasn't a fake!"
I exclaimed, already fascinated by the prospect of hearing some wild and
juice tales.

   "Uff, well, if I must I must.  I'm going to tell you things I never
shared with anybody and some aren't nice at all.  I mean, some people know
pieces of it, but nobody till today knows the whole story.  But first
things first." She said and paused to empty half a bottle of water.

   I didn't say anything, just pressed her shoulder and stroked her back. I
didn't want to distract her.  Unlike before China, she seemed to react
strongly to body contact and whenever I caressed her bare skin, even on her
back or tummy, I could feel how she got turned on.  True, even the first
time I touched her, during that first moments, on the dance floor, I felt
her skin jump under my fingers, whenever I touched her bare skin.  And yet,
she had been overly shy in our first year, quite hard to turn on and never
showing she might be horny, leaving the initiative always to me.  That was
actually the main reason I hadn't been a very god lover those days, as I
always felt I imposed myself upon her.

   "When I arrived at Granny's, it was a shock.  I had only met her a few
times, when she had paid us short visits in New York.  My mom, God rest
her, always said she had fled the stinks as soon as she had been old enough
and she wouldn't want to be brought back there not even feet first.  Well,
she wasn't anyway, but that's another story.

   When we arrived in Grandpa's truck, he had to carry me to my room in his
arms.  I had fallen asleep over the last hundred miles.  I woke up and
almost screamed.  It took me a while to realize were I was and why.  Biased
by my mother's hatred of the place, I was determined to hate everything,
the room, which actually was a bit shabby, but a lot bigger and friendlier
than any of the rooms I had ever used, the air, with it's mixture of spring
flowers, manure and the smell of raw tobacco fermenting in the barn. 
Without the secret support of my Grandpa, I would've gone crazy, having to
smell that delicious scent all the time without being able to have a smoke.


   You see, Grandpa was a tobacco farmer and next to the house, he had a
big barn where the leaves dried and fermented.  Well, one might think that
this was the land of plenty for a smoker, but though both Grandpa and
Grandma never smoked anything they hadn't grown on the farm and hardly ever
ate anything they hadn't cropped or grown with their own hands, I couldn't
get myself to smoke that stuff.  I was a spoiled city-brat, brought up on
hamburgers and refined cigarettes.  What did I know of organic food or the
chemicals in cigarettes?

   To tell the truth, while I learned a lot about healthy nutrition and you
know me, whenever I can, I stick to the good stuff, I could never truly get
to terms with the so called natural tobacco.  I did try some of Grandpa's
pipe tobacco and it wasn't that bad when rolled into a cigarette, but I
turned back to filter cigarettes quickly.  However, on and off Grandpa
allowed me to break in a new pipe.  That was kinda nice.  He always
criticized my style, saying that one never inhaled from a pipe, but I
didn't care.  I just loved to suck down that thick and mellow smoke. 
Grandpa flavored his own tobacco with honey and some of his moonshine
whiskey and he was very good at it.  He even sold some to friends, together
with his whiskey, but he was very careful, so he never got caught by the
tax people.

   The only person who didn't like Grandpa's tobacco, was Grandma.  She
preferred to take some of the ready to ship tobacco and use her own secret
flavors, which she changed often.  The only time I enjoyed a god
hand-rolled one from her, was when she tried menthol flavor for a change.
That actually did trick for me and I might still roll my own with menthol
tobacco, but I quit soon after that.  Funny enough, it happened right when
I finally was about to get permission from Granny to smoke.  I guess she
had found out long before, but she chose to ignore it.  Only a few weeks
short of my fifteenth birthday she suddenly offered me on of her own,
saying she wouldn't mind.  I was allowed to share her cigarettes, now that
I was old enough.  Well, we lived in tobacco country and fifteen seemed an
acceptable age there to start smoking and, as far as boys were concerned,
drinking too.

   By the way, drinking was another issue and also had to do with why I
sort of reinvented myself at fifteen.  Grandpa not only supplied me with my
Marlboros or any other brand I was inclined to try out, but he also took me
with him to his hideaway.  There was a hickory grove on the farm, a few
minutes form the house, where Grandpa distilled his moonshine stuff.  It
was not really a question of fearing the law.  The Sheriff was his best
customer, but apart from his blindness when it came to illicit trafficking
of tobacco or bootleg, he was taking his job seriously.  Also he believed
strongly in giving young delinquents a chance to improve and correct their
wrong doings.

   Grandpa sometimes went to his distillery just to smoke his pipe in peace
and since my arrival he took me with him whenever I wanted, later even
giving me permission to go there alone, supposedly to help him, but
naturally I used his place to smoke.  Whenever I had a fight with Grandma,
I used to run there, smoke and sulk.  Oh, err, yes, I drank Grandpa's
Whiskey too.  I mean, it wasn't like I was an alcoholic or so, I just loved
to have a drink now and then.  And I still do, now that I...."

   She paused, and her face changed color.

   "Fuck, I did it again." She exclaimed.  "So sorry, Honey."

   I hugged her and answered: "Don't fret, it's not like I forgot or
something, no harm done.  Go ahead, you made me curious."

   "Uh, yes, but it makes me sad, when I keep stepping into that pile of...
Never mind, I sure could use a ciggie now, but I'll be a good girl.  So,
where was I?  Yes, drinking.  Grandpa introduced me to his Moonshine and I
took a liking to it.  I soon noticed the cigarettes tasted even better when
I was little tipsy, so I made habit of taking a sip or two of whiskey and
then smoke till my throat burned.  At least when I was in the distillery,
which was once or twice a week.  I didn't dare go there more often, lest it
became obvious, but there were nights when Granny would go out with Grandpa
and visit some friends.  I was sound asleep when they came home and usually
they were quite tipsy, especially Granny, so I got away with my drinking.
Not even Grandpa would've approved of that.

   I would've felt very well, except there was one thing that kept nagging
at me and dragging me down.  I was too big for my age and fat too.  While
most girls in my class already had some kind of boyfriend, though only few
of them were really in love or having sex.  I was the pariah in my school.
I was too dark for the white kids and too white for the others.  Besides, I
had straight hair, which made me look like an alien among the black girls.
They all had curly hair, and mine wasn't even black, just brown.  Actually,
some of the girls secretly envied me for my hair, but racism had never died
there.  As the black people started to grow more confident, they also
developed some kind of upside down racism against all other colors.  Even
Granny wasn't the most popular person in the county because she had married
a Mexican, though Grandpa was so dark, he could've passed for a black,
except for his straight hair and his bushy moustache.

   Anyway, had I been more popular and better looking, I might have ended
up screwing around and who knows what else.  As it was, the best I managed
was getting invited at parties, but only because I had access to booze and
fancy cigarettes, as most of them hated the raw tobacco, although for want
of alternatives, those who smoked did so with what was at hand.  Especially
girls were keen on filter cigarettes like Marlboros, Camel or the likes. 
So I got invited, but the boys never cared about me and the girls were only
civil to me to get at the cigarettes.  So actually I didn't have a friend
in the world, except Grandpa."