The next morning I awoke to the familiar sounds of phlegm being ejected to
the tune of hacking cough. Needless to say she was holding a lit a
cigarette. She coughed something at me that sounded like “Good morning”. I
casually wiped it off my face and returned the greeting. “How are you
feeling?” she asked. I told her I was fine. “How about your chest?” she
asked, reminding me that I had smoked at least a pack by my self the night
before. I breathed deeply and felt what she was talking about. She was
right. I wasn’t used to it. The smell of her smoke gave me the urge and I
told her so. She coughed, nodded her head and handed me the pack.
I lit up and asked why she had a sudden change of heart about my smoking.
What she said next almost made me drop the cigarette.
“I found a couple of your favorite web sites on the computer.” She said
this as casually as she would say she found a bologna sandwich in the
fridge. I felt the blood rush out of my face. I was humiliated and she knew
it.
“Its OK”, she said, trying to reassure me. “Its not your fault. I know you
can’t help it, just like I can’t help my smoking even with the cancer.”
“You’re not mad at me?” I asked quietly.
“Of course not” she coughed. “If I’m mad at anyone then I’m mad at my self
for trying to change you. “We wasted five years of our life when we could
have been doing what we were doing last night. You enjoyed it didn’t you-
the smoke orgasm?”
“Oh Barbara, it was so wonderful”, I said.
She smiled and took a deep puff. “It turned me on too, I just had no idea
what it meant to you. You really like to watch me smoke, don’t you?”
I got up the nerve to take another puff and told her that I would live in
her smoke if I could.
She laughed and lit another cigarette. “You’re not afraid of catching
cancer? Even after all I’ve been through?”
I shook my head no.
“So tell me”, she said, “What’s it feel like to be here smoking in front of
me? Does it excite you?” My penis grew visibly as she spoke.
I looked down at the sheets and said, “This is what I’ve always wanted. I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed about this. I feel so grown-up
sitting here with you like this.”
Barbara tapped her ash and asked if I ever thought of smoking with her and
my mom at the same time. I told her that I thought about it all the time.
She took a thoughtful drag from her cigarette. Something was on her mind.
“Do you think about your mother when you’re making love to me?”
That pale cold feeling rushed back. I didn’t have to say it. The look on my
face gave it away.
Barbara put her hand to her forehead and scratched while she took another
puff. “Its OK” she said. “You wouldn’t be the first man to be in love with
his mother and with all you’ve been through, I have to admit it makes
sense.” She cleared her throat with a deep cough and spit it into her cup.
“Your father died when you were 10. You were the man of the house and you
wanted every thing that goes along with that responsibility including your
mother.” She cleared her throat with another wet cough and chased it with a
deep puff. “You started smoking because your mom smokes, didn’t you?”
I put my cigarette out in the ashtray as I thought about what I might say.
She was reading me like a book. Tell her the truth I thought. “Yes” I said.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you.”
She smiled weakly. The cancer had taken its toll. The skin on her face
sagged. She looked like a living skeleton with big tits. “I know you do. I
love you too”, she said. “But I still want to talk about this. I’m dieing
and there are things I have to know and decisions I have to make. Remember
when you were 15 and your mother caught you smoking? And she called me.”
Again I nodded without saying any thing. How could I forget that day?
Barbara put out her cigarette and replaced it with a fresh one. “You wanted
her to accept you as a fellow smoker and adult, didn’t you? You wanted her
to accept you then as I did last night.” She waited for me to say
something. My silence was indicative of my agreement and she continued.
Barbara put her hand on my thigh and cleared her throat. She was trying to
look me in the eye and I was doing my best to avoid her. I looked up
finally and stared into those sad blue eyes. The cancer had decimated her
body, but it hadn’t been able to diminish the life in her eyes.
“I love you,” she said. “And it turns me on just to look at you. You’re
every older woman’s fantasy whether she would admit it or not. And to me
you were a Godsend. Take the cancer out of the picture and most men still
wouldn’t have given me the time of the day. My smoking disgusts most men.
But you’re not most men and I know why and that doesn’t matter. What
matters is that you loved the real me.” She paused to catch her nicotine
breath with a fresh puff of menthol. “Did I ever tell you that I talk to
your mom about our sex life?”
“What?” I asked. “You talk to my mom about what we do? Why?
Barbara smiled. “Because she’s interested and I need to talk to some one,
don’t I?” Then she shook her head. “I’ve never known another woman like
your mother. She’s so concerned about your sex life. She wants to be sure
I’m satisfying her little baby. You should have seen the envy on her face
when I told her about the way you fuck me and give me oral sex while I
smoke. She was jealous as hell. I’m telling you the truth. Men like you are
a rare commodity. Addicts like your mother and I would kill for a guy like
you. Do you know how much your mom is smoking now? She’s up to four packs a
day! Do you see where I’m going with this? You and your mom are perfect for
each other. Don’t look at me like that. You know its true. You’re in love
with her. You think about her when you’re having sex with me.”
I feigned disgust. “Do you hear what you’re saying? You’re talking about my
mother. That’s incest!”
“We’re not talking about marriage or having children” she countered. “We’re
talking about love and sex and smoking and age differences. She’s 55 years
old. There’s no way you two could ever make children. And if you get past
the social implications, its beautiful. Think about it. What’s more
beautiful than making love to the same vagina that gave birth to you? I
think its sweet to think of you nuzzling from the breasts that fed you,
don’t you?”
I told her that I didn’t want to talk about it any more.
I continued to smoke in front of Barbara for the two days following that
awful conversation about my mother. When I’d come home from work, Barbara
would tell me that she had spoken to my mother on the phone. When I asked
her what they talked about, she wouldn’t tell me. I felt guilty and sick to
my stomach.
Barbara was deteriorating fast. She rarely got out of bed and she refused
to eat. She just lay in that bed, too weak to have sex but not too weak to
smoke and cough and gag.
I insisted on staying home from work on the third day so that I could drive
her to the hospital. I knew it was hopeless and she reminded me of that.
She told me she didn’t want to go, that she wanted die in her own bed with
her cigarettes by her side.
I called my boss and told him about Barbara’s worsening condition. He
sympathized with me and told me not to come back to work until I was ready.