What do doctors know? It wasn’t like Banchoo had misdiagnosed her or
anything. Barbara definitely had the cancer but she was stronger than he
anticipated. Two years doesn’t equate to “not a long time to live”. But
every thing is relative, and its not as if I wanted her to kick off as soon
as we pulled up the driveway. All in all, it was probably better that way.
Hearing those words, “Not a long time to live” has a way of making people
seize the moment and that’s exactly what we did. The last two years were
like a wonderful movie that’s way too long but you still don’t want it to
end.
The experience at the hospital made a big impact on Barbara. She didn’t
take any thing for granted any more. She didn’t know if she had a couple
days or a couple weeks. We made love twice a day for 21 days in a row. It
wasn’t just her sex drive that was affected either. Despite the cancer she
actually started smoking more. I’ll never forget the first day she smoked
six packs. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even notice. Twenty less would
have caught my attention, but twenty more got by me some how but it didn’t
get by Barbara. She laughed when she told me. I thought maybe the cancer
had spread from her lungs to her brain, but she wasn’t crazy. She told me
she had done it intentionally. She wasn’t going to drag this thing out. She
figured that the more she smoked the sooner the cancer would take her.
Besides that, she said she enjoyed it.
Things started calming down after her first month back. That’s when she
figured out she wasn’t dead yet. In her own words, “I don’t feel any worse
than I did the day before I went in the hospital and I didn’t feel that bad
then.”
Time heals all wounds but it doesn’t heal lung cancer. But time did make it
easier to cope with. Her cancer brought us closer together. We asked
questions of each other that we might not have asked and reacted better to
the answers.
I will never forget the most honest conversation of our marriage. We were
sitting up in bed watching the 11:00 news like we always did. Barbara was
wearing one of my favorite nightgowns. I loved them all because they were
all colorful and silky covered with lace but the red one had always been my
favorite.
I remember looking over at her as she watched TV. She was beautiful. The
hem of her gown stopped at her knees where it met the sheets. She had quit
coloring her hair three years earlier and it had returned to its natural
gray state, rolling over her neck and resting on her shoulders. She refused
to let it become a victim of chemotherapy. She once told me that she
wouldn’t go to the grave bald. I loved her gray hair. I loved the way it
framed her wrinkled face. I watched with envy as she brought the cigarette
to her lips and pulled firmly on the white filter. I timed my breaths to
coincide with her deep inhales and robust exhales. Her massive breasts
seemed to have a life of their own as they sagged and expanded against the
red silk and lace gown. I inched closer to her and laid my head against
them. Never have I felt a softer pillow on my cheek. She smiled warmly
through her smoke and put an arm around my shoulder as I nuzzled her
breasts. I crushed my cheek into her breasts so I could turn enough to see
the two overflowing ashtrays sitting on the nightstand beside crumpled
packs of Benson & Hedges Menthols and packs that were still in service.
Being in our bedroom was like living in a cloud of sweet mentholated smoke.
Every puff she exhaled wafted over my face and made its way to the ceiling.
It smelled so comforting. I don’t know how else to describe it. Just
knowing that smoke had been in her body, deep in her dark black lungs and
now she was sharing it with me. There’s just nothing else like it.
From my vantage point on her chest, I could hear her stiff lungs as they
waged a losing battle with every gas they came in contact with. They
rattled and they wheezed and the coughing was continuous. She had taken to
keeping a cup beside her ashtray. It wasn’t for holding water.
I told her soft massive silky breasts that I loved her.
“Do you still think I’m sexy?” she asked. The question was asked seriously
and I turned my head so that I could see her eyes. I looked up just in time
to see the wonderful clouds of white smoke as they escaped through her lips
and nostrils. I pushed up and caught her with a kiss before her gift was
lost to the ceiling. I had been true to my word about quitting smoking and
I had never regretted that decision. My taste buds were free to explore and
examine every inch of her luscious 6 pack a day mouth. I greedily inhaled
her breath and all her wonderful smells. As we kissed, I moved my hand
across her stomach and rubbed her thigh through the smooth red silk. I felt
her hand move gently across my groin and grasp my penis that had been stiff
since I climbed in bed. A smile crossed her lips as she pulled her
cigarette away. She didn’t turn her head up and exhale toward the ceiling
like she usually did. Instead she gave her smoke to me, bathing my face in
her mentholated cancer cloud. The look on her face told me that she knew,
but she said the words anyway. “You think I’m sexy when I smoke? Don’t
you?” she asked.
I could have feigned ignorance but something told me not too. My answer was
short and sweet and it was all she needed to hear. “Yes”, I said. She
didn’t get mad. When I think about it now, why should she. If she had
thought it was unattractive, she wouldn’t have started in the first place.
“Does that bother you?” I asked.
Her long white cigarette was freshly lit and she held it between her
fingers like a work of art against another work of art, which was her face.
She had the look of a woman who felt sexy and desired. She took another
puff exhaled in my face. “No”, she said. “It makes me happy”.
I kissed her again and then slid myself toward the end of the bed as she
shifted to make her self more comfortable against the pillows. The last
thing I saw before I spread her thighs was her chin pointing toward the
ceiling and the long white cigarette clenched tightly between her lips as
clouds of smoke billowed from her face.
The hair between her legs was as gray as the hair on her head and my tongue
pushed past it to find her well-used vagina. I felt her body flinch and
heard her moan as my wet hot tongue found its mark. I grasped her flabby
ass with both hands and pushed my face deeper as she squirmed with delight.
I heard her lighter come to life five times before her hips exploded in my
face. Her moans of relief were louder than I expected considering her
lung’s diminished capacity and it was music to my ears. She was all but
spent as I wiped my face on the sheet and climbed back up to my pillow. She
still held a half smoked cigarette clinched between her teeth so I kissed
her on the cheek and washed out my mouth with a swig of Pepsi from a can on
my nightstand.
I’m sure Barbara would have preferred to rest comfortably in the aftermath
of her orgasm, but there was a price to pay for smoking so rapidly and
heavily on her back as she had done. I don’t know the medical details or
terminology. I can only make speculations based on my observations. Lying
on her back had given the noxious fluid in her lungs an opportunity to
settle and coagulate. The sound of her coughing was so much different than
when we first got married. It used to be dry with a sporadic pop of phlegm.
Not any more. The woman had so much fluid built up in her chest that she
was a candidate for gills. No matter how many times she filled the cup on
the nightstand there was endless supply of cancerous phlegm waiting its
turn to make her acquaintance.
I can’t say I was immune to the urgent sounds of her beaten lungs as they
fought to stay afloat, but I was used to it and so was she. Sometimes the
fight lasted several seconds. In this case it was several minutes. Most
people would have had at least put their cigarette out and maybe if they
had a death wish they would have lit another after they felt better but not
Barbara. She hung on to the burning butt as she flailed in our bed. I kept
a close eye on that cigarette. I wasn’t ready to become a burning bed
statistic. But Barbara wasn’t a novice. She had never even singed a single
blouse. She wouldn’t drop a lit cigarette in our bed.
Eventually the coughs began to slow. She wiped the tears from her eyes with
one hand and put the other on her chest in an effort to stabilize her self.
Then she smiled at me and told me she was sorry for making such a big
scene. I told her it was no big deal and asked if she was OK. She nodded
and reached for her pack as she put her old butt out. I asked her if she
had enjoyed it.
Barbara got the Benson & Hedges burning and steadied her lungs to accept
the smoke. She inhaled deliciously deep and held it without coughing. She
was feeling better again and I was glad because it was my turn next. I’m
not a selfish guy but I’m only human. Between the smoking and the coughing
and that old gray hair in my mouth, I had worked my self up pretty good but
I wasn’t worried, Barbara had never let me down before.
She opened her mouth to speak. I watched mesmerized as the smoke poured out
but I couldn’t make out the words she was saying and asked her to repeat
them. “It was wonderful”, she whispered. “It was so incredible. I wish you
knew how good it felt.”
I was curious about what she meant. I had had a lot of orgasms since we
were married but she seemed to be talking about something different and I
asked her what she meant.
She smiled as she held her burning cigarette in front of her for me to see.
“It’s the way the orgasms feel when the smoke is in my body. I can’t
explain it. It just feels different- so much better. I just wish I could
make you feel as good as you make me feel. And then she smiled deviously
and said, “Just this once. Do you want to try it?” She handed me her
burning cigarette as she asked me the question. This time I didn’t ask her
to repeat her self.
I took the cigarette gently from her being careful not to burn my self with
it. I placed it between my lips and pulled hard. The mentholated smoke
rushed down my throat like an old friend racing home. My muscles in my
chest went limp as they welcomed the nicotine but my penis stood its
ground. I threw my head back and exhaled a long cloud at the ceiling just
as my lovely wife had moments before me. I turned to face her. I thanked
her with my eyes. The look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t finished
yet.
She cleared her throat with the sweetest little cough as she mustered the
energy to scoot toward the bottom of the bed as I took my place on her
pillows. I tapped an ash in to her ashtray and placed it back between my
lips as I felt Barbara’s hands work their way down my waist. She stopped at
my navel and kissed it tenderly and moved on to my penis, which was already
reaching for her hot wet mouth.
She tickled the tip of my penis with her tongue before taking in the rest.
I groaned through the clenched cigarette with surprised joy. This was the
first time in our marriage that her lips had ever touched my penis. The TMJ
in her jaws had prevented her from doing so. At least that’s what she
always said and I believed her. The woman had a hard enough time opening
her mouth wide enough to eat a sandwich and now she was working her self up
and down on my cock. And I didn’t care about the past any more and I sure
wasn’t thinking about it. All I was thinking about was the rich mentholated
smoke circulating in my young lungs. I craned my head forward just a little
so that I could get a better glimpse of the gray head of hair slurping its
way up and down my cock. Barbara was right. This was incredible. I smoked
the cigarette down to the filter and lit another one. I wouldn’t have time
to finish it before I exploded in her mouth. I inhaled a deep puff right
before I lost it and held it tight. The muscles in my legs and ass clenched
down in spasms as I shot what was the longest orgasm of my short life into
my wife’s waiting mouth.
I watched her as she came up for air. She was spent. Her gray hair was
matted with sweat, and cum slid off the corner of her mouth, falling to a
puddle on my thigh. She wiped her face and revealed a tired but victorious
smile. She pulled her self on top of me, kissing me once and then rolling
off to the side.
My cigarette was only half smoked and she could have demanded it back but
instead of exercising her authority she reached for the pack in stead and
lit one for her self. I hadn’t recovered from the blowjob but I was able to
mutter a “Thank you that was so wonderful.” She smiled at me as she lit her
cigarette. And then she picked up the ashtray and put it on my chest so we
could share it.
That was one of the happiest nights of my life. I was 23 and she was 65. We
had been married for five wonderful years but it was the first time I had
ever felt like her husband. We lay in bed and smoked the night away. I
fucked her with my penis as we smoked our selves to second orgasms. And
then we smoked some more as we basked in the aftermath of our misunderstood
love.