Karen half-raised an eyebrow as her 16-year-old daughter Gemma stood suddenly
from the sofa on the other side the living room and walked out quickly, without
saying anything. Karen sensed from her body language that something was
bothering her teenage daughter but didn’t say anything. She half thought about
going after her to see if she was OK but, remembering back to what it felt like to be
a teenager, thought better of it. Instead, Karen dropped her pack of cigarettes and
lighter onto the coffee table, picked up the ashtray and plopped herself back onto
her own sofa, resting the ashtray carefully on the sofa’s arm next to her, the freshly
lit Marlboro Light that was dangling from her lips bobbing up and down as she got
herself comfy.
The tip of her cigarette glowed bright red and stood straight and proud as her
cheeks hollowed and she took an intense drag. On cue the fingers of her right
hand gently and instinctively removed the cigarette from her lips and she audibly
inhaled, instinctively closing her eyes briefly as the smoke reached the depth of
her lungs. She always loved the first inhale of a cigarette, but this one felt
particularly good: Friday evening of a long weekend, after a stressy few days at
work. She had been looking forward to spending the evening with Gemma:
watching a movie, getting a pizza and spending some “mum and daughter girl
time” together. Karen really hoped that her daughter’s hormones wouldn’t ruin the
evening they had planned.
She spent the next few minutes in her own company, enjoying her cigarette,
flicking through Facebook on her phone, not really paying attention to anything she
read. She could hear Gemma moving around in kitchen next door, but intentionally
didn’t say anything, wanting to give her daughter some space if she needed it to
deal with whatever was bothering her.
“Do you want anything?” her daughter asked from next door, taking Karen slightly
by surprise.
“I’m good thanks love, but say if you want to order food now, or we can wait a bit if
you like” replied Karen through a talking exhale. Her daughter appeared in the
doorway holding a diet Coke, and half smiled at her mum as Karen crushed her
smoked-to-the-butt smoked Marlboro in the ashtray. Gemma sat herself down,
opened the coke and started reading the magazine she’d dropped when she
stormed five minutes or so previously.
Karen watched her and she thought about things – maybe she was being unfair to
think Gemma had actually stormed out. But then she couldn’t help thinking that her
daughter had seemed a little stressed since she’d got in the car a few hours
previously when Karen had picked her up from her gym session after school. Oh
well, she seemed ok now.
The two women sat in companionable silence for the next five minutes or so,
Karen on her phone and Gemma reading her magazine. “Are you happy reading
sweety, or do you want to watch something?” Karen asked daughter.
“All good for now if you are mum, it’s quite nice just doing nothing if you know what
I mean?” replied Gemma, smiling at her mum, which helped Karen’s worries about
her daughter subside a bit more.
“Sure, just tell me if you get bored or hungry right?” said Karen, returning the smile.
As she did so she let out a soft cough, a cough that seemed more and more
common these days. Karen sighed, and leaned forward to pick up her cigarettes,
knowing that, of course, they were the cause of the cough, but also knowing just
how much pleasure they bought her, and the comfort that she derived from every
single cigarette she smoked.
She was only 33 and felt proud of the life she’d forged for herself and her daughter,
being a single mother ever since Gemma’s dad had walked out when she was just
three years old. At only age 20, single and with a three-year-old, Karen had worked
her socks off to make ends meet, determined to provide for her and her daughter,
working all hours to make money, all the while studying for her fashion degree
when she could, relying on her parents for childcare heavily, but never shying
away from making sacrifices her for daughter. That said, her one vice had been
her cigarettes, a habit she’d picked up again when alone and scared when she’d
found herself a single mum. Like so many young girls, she’d dabbled with smoking
a bit in her teen years but had quit the day she fell pregnant. During the toughest
financial times she’d often made a pack last a week or more, but always loved
every cigarette she could smoke, coming to rely on the “friendship” they gave her
as she liked to think of it. As Gemma grew up and Karen’s career as a junior
fashion designer advanced, Karen was able to slowly smoke more and did so
naturally, eventually finding her “natural level” of around a pack a half of Marlboro
Lights per day. She knew it was bad, and didn’t love that she smoked openly in
front of her young daughter and in their home, but everyone had a vice, right?
Karen was of the era when smoking in the family home wasn’t uncommon, and so
it just didn’t seem too odd bringing her daughter up in a similar environment, and
Gemma never seemed to complain. Karen promised herself every year she’d quit
by her next birthday, but at the back of her mind knew this was almost certainly not
going to happen.
Back in the moment, Karen flicked her lighter to bring her cigarette to life, touching
the flame to the tip of the Marlboro sat between her lips. She dragged hard, and as
she inhaled, once again Gemma’s mood seemed to flip and she stood up, half
glared at her mother and huffily left the room. Karen went to move to get up and
follow her, but then remembered how quickly her teenage daughter’s mood had
flipped back just 20 minutes or so previously and thought better of it.
Just as before, she sensed her daughter milling about in the kitchen just a few
minutes later. Seizing the opportunity, she stood and double pumped on her
cigarette, stubbing it out only half smoked cigarette and went through to the
kitchen.
“Alright love?” she said gingerly. “I…I’m going to have a glass of wine, would you
like a small one?”
Gemma looked at her Mum suddenly, half shocked, but then beamed. “Really
mum?”
“Of course. I know you and your friends sneak the odd boozy drink when you’re
out having fun and remember…I was your age once!” laughed Karen.
“Yeh, but everything was black and white that was so long ago” Gemma quipped
back, grinning. She always teased her mum for being old but would be the first to
admit she had a pretty cool mother: attractive, liberal and someone who’d do
anything for her daughter, and indeed had worked hard to provide the comfy life
Gemma had today. She idoled her mum in so many ways.
Karen got a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge, telling Gemma to get two
glasses from the cupboard. “I may be old but I’m not naïve…I know you’re at an
age where you experiment with alcohol and stuff. I just want you to know that you
can always talk to me, question me, challenge me.” Gemma looked a bit shy,
looking away from her mum. “Seriously! I WAS your age once, and not that long
ago…I remember what a weird time in your life it can be, and I want to help you
through that. It’ll be so much easier if we’re honest with each other.”
Gemma gave her mum a genuine smile of affection, and took a deep breath,
almost like she was going to say something, but thought better of it. “I know mum,
you’re the best, thank you.”
Heading back through to the living room, the two women sat down next to each
other on the sofa previously occupied just by Karen. Gemma put the glasses on
the coffee table, and her mum poured two small glasses. “Cheers love”, said
Karen, picking up her glass and chinking it gently with her daughter’s. The two
women took a sip and a smiled at each other, Karen knowing full well that this was
NOT Gemma’s first glass of wine, having spoken to one of her schoolfriend’s
mum’s a month or so back, debriefing each other on their daughters’ sleepover at
the friend’s house, smuggling in a bottle of wine, chuckling that they’d of course
done just the same when they were that age.
Karen instinctively reached for her cigarettes, knowing just how well the chilled
white wine would be complimented by the smokey goodness provided to her
courtesy of her Marlboros. As she pulled out a fresh, cigarette and put it between
her lips, she could feel Gemma next to her stiffen, and firmly put her wine glass
down on the coffee table, indicating once again that something wasn’t up. In that
moment her maternal instinct sensed what might be causing her daughter bother,
the subject of their previous conversation about growing up and “experimenting”
fresh in her mind.
At the exact same moment that Karen realised this, Gemma decided she couldn’t
take it anymore. “Oh mum…I can’t do this. I have to tell you something” she said,
then added, almost as an afterthought: “please be cool about this and try to be
understanding.”
Karen had the cigarette between her lips and the lighter half raised to bring it to
life. But in that moment sensed that wasn’t the thing to do. Instead of lighting the
cigarette she raised her right hand and removed it from her lips, feeling a
momentary intense craving as her body didn’t get the jolt of nicotine it was
expecting. She ignored the craving, and both women’s eyes followed the cigarette
down as she rested her hand on her thigh.
“Go on love, what is it? Remember, I want you to tell me things that are bothering
you.”
“Oh mum, please, please, please can I have a cigarette? I’ve…I’ve not had once
since this morning and I’m absolutely gasping for some nicotine…and you sitting
there smoking with such pleasure has been killing me.” She paused, breaking eye
contact with her mum, bowing her head slightly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s probably not
what you wanted to hear, but…I’ve been smoking for a while now and…well, I think
I probably am a little bit…well…addicted.”
Karen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and thoughtfully, a million thoughts
rushing through her head in just a few short seconds. She turned to face her
daughter full on, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. With her unlit cigarette
still between the fingers of her right hand, she took both her daughter’s hands in
hers and made deliberate and warm eye contact. “Honey…thank you for being
honest. I know that can’t have been easy to say, especially given how shitty you’re
probably feeling right now, but thank you for being honest. If it makes you feel any
better, after that revelation I too could really, really murder a cigarette so at least
we’re both in the same boat.” Both women laughed awkwardly.
“Yeh well,” said Gemma, looking away and half rolling her eyes, “you just smoked
one like two minutes ago so right now my needs are probably greater than yours.”
She looked back at her mother who gave her a sort of ‘really, you’re choosing now
to be a smart-arse’ look, mainly impressed and only a tiny bit annoyed.
Karen took a breath and spoke: “Look. I won’t lie, I’d rather you hadn’t just
revealed to me that you’ve been smoking behind my back…I’d rather you didn’t
smoke at all actually! I’ve set a terrible example to you growing up, and I’m not
proud of that. But it is what it is. I’m not going to insult you with a lecture about how
bad smoking is for you…you’re clever enough to know that. But I’m also not going
to be pretend I don’t enjoy it: you’ve clearly witnessed that as you’ve watched me
smoke a zillion cigs as you’ve grown up. You’ve also clearly learnt the hard way
just how addictive they are. So, I’m going to ask you this now, and just once, and I
want you to look me in the eye and give me an honest answer.” Karen took
another slow breath. “If I throw this pack in the bin now, and vow to never, ever
smoke another cigarette in my life, will it mean you won’t smoke either?”
Gemma took a deep breath herself and looked away for a few seconds before
turning her head back to Karen and looking her directly in the ey. “No Mum, I don’t
want you to do that. I want to smoke, and I want to smoke with you. Why should
we both deprive ourselves of something we clearly both enjoy? Yeh ok it’s bad for
us, and it’ll turn our lungs black yada yada yada.” Karen looked almost impressed
at her daughter’s sassyness at this last comment but didn’t say anything. “But
you’ve just a few minutes ago offered me a glass of wine…that stuff isn’t great
either, but it’s enjoyable. If you want to quit smoking, then for your health of course
you should, and I’ll help you. But I want…no I need…a cigarette now more than
anything else, and I kind of think you do too.”
Karen couldn’t argue with anything her daughter had just said. She’d asked her to
be honest with her, and she’d done just that.
She reluctantly, but understandingly, opened her pack and offered her a cigarette.
“Well then, I guess you better do something about that nicotine itch you badly need
to scratch”, said Karen, as Gemma took a Marlboro from the pack, and Karen put
her own cigarette, that she’d held unlit for the last few minutes, back between her
lips.
Karen picked up the lighter raised it towards Gemma and said – clenching the filter
of her own cigarette between her teeth – “thank you for being honest”.
Gemma tilted her head forward to accept the light, her eyes widening with pleasure
as the tip caught, and Karen could only sit and watch, lighter still half raised, as her
daughter took a mammoth cheek hollowing drag, before removing the cigarette
and performing a perfect snap inhale, immediately returning her hand to her mouth
to repeat the process not once, but twice more, her young lungs readily accepting
the fruits of the triple pump Gemma had just performed.
Karen finally lit her own cigarette as Gemma let out a slow and elegant cone
exhale before saying “thanks mum, you really don’t know how good that feels.”
Inhaling deeply herself, Karen replied “trust me, I do.”
The two women sat in slightly awkward silence for half a minute or so, both puffing
away on their cigarettes. Karen couldn’t take her eyes of her daughter, and
Gemma could feel it, and was trying not to look embarrassed.
Karen suddenly had so many questions to ask her daughter but didn’t want to
seem like she was grilling her. “So, from the look of how you smoke, you’ve been
doing this quite a while, would I be right?” asked Karen.
Gemma nodded as she took another deep drag. Removing the smouldering
cigarette from her lips she inhaled and said “I first tried it after school a few years
back and liked how it made me feel straight away…after all the coughing, I mean.
We started sneaking them after school a few times a week, Jess was able to
scrounge from her older sister Claire. We did that for a while then I finally get the
courage to try and buy a pack when I was 15.”
“And you can get served?” asked Karen, feeling both shocked and not shocked at
the same time, knowing there were always shops that would sell cigarettes to
underage kids…hell, she’d done just the same when she was Gemma’s age.
“Yeh, you need to know where to try but it’s never really a huge problem” replied
Gemma through a talking exhale. “A couple of packs a week lets me have five or
six a day and I can afford that from the weekend shifts in the coffee shop”, referring
to the part time job she’d worked every Saturday for the last year.
“Have you been smoking here at home?” asked Karen, curious at how brazen her
daughter will have been with her growing habit. “Remember, be honest – I won’t be
mad!”
“A little bit yeh. Recently I’ve been sneaking one out of my bedroom window when
you’ve gone to bed. I was kinda terrified you’d smell the smoke, but at the same
time knew that was not really going to happen as it’s always smoky from your cigs
anyway.” A pang of guilt momentarily came over Karen as she thought about the
‘always smoky’ environment Gemma had been brought up in, but she quickly
pushed it out of her mind.
Gemma paused to take a drag on the nearly smoked cigarette between her
fingers. “The evenings were when I really started to have cravings, it was hard not
being able to smoke between getting home after school and you going to bed…it’s
been getting harder and harder. I did actually decide to stop when the cravings
really started, as it scared me a bit how much I needed to smoke, but the next
morning on the way to school I was almost crying I needed to smoke so badly, and
so scrounged a cigarette from Jess and I’ve never felt relief like it when I inhaled. I
knew from that moment on that quitting wasn’t an option…I think it’s in our genes
to smoke.”
Karen once again felt a pang of guilt but couldn’t help agree with Gemma’s
thoughts about smoking being in their family: her own mother was still puffing down
a pack a day and had long given up trying to quit. “And what about at school, have
you been brave enough to smoke there too?” asked Karen.
Gemma looked embarrassed and avoided actually giving a yes or no answer.
“Loads of us do Mum, the school kind of know we all sneak them at the bottom of
the tennis courts but don’t police it too much.”
“Hmmm well if you get caught, you have to accept the punishment they give you”
said Karen, knowing from her own experience that there were always “smoking
dens” at schools. Gemma was a bright kid who worked hard and got good grades.
Karen trusted her to be careful and wouldn’t give her a hard time about this rule
breaking. “And I presume you’ve been sneaking the odd one from my packs, have
you? I know that’s what I did with your gran’s packs when I started wanting to
smoke.”
“Only ever three times and not for ages…I was just scared you’d notice them going
missing, and it felt like stealing. I thought you’d be madder at the idea of me
pinching your cigarettes than the actual smoking!” The two women smiled at each
other, Karen feeling a sense of pride at the values she’d instilled in her daughter.
Gemma took a final drag from her cigarette and crushed it out into the ashtray that
was now between them. Karen was surprised and oddly impressed at how quickly
her daughter had devoured that cigarette, as her own still had a good few drags
left before she’d need to put it out.
“Thanks, Mum, for being so cool about this, really…I’m seriously lucky and I know
that.”
“You can have another if you want” smiled Karen, pointing her cigarette to the pack
on the coffee table. “Or if you want to get your own feel free…I don’t even know
what brand you’ve been smoking” she said as a half question.
“Marlboro Golds, same as you” replied Gemma straight away. “I’ve tried a few
other brands, but these just seem to go down the best. Jess’ sister smokes Silk
Cut and ohmygod they’re gross compared to the Golds!” Karen laughed at the look
of genuine repulsion on her daughter’s face, understanding what she meant: she’d
tried Silk Cut too in the past and wasn’t a fan.
“Let’s make a deal” said Karen before taking a final double pump on her cigarette
and crushing it out in the ashtray as her daughter had done just a minute before. “I
think it’s only fair you continue to pay towards your habit, so if you contribute the
cost of the two packs you’ve been buying to the household budget each week, I’ll
buy cigarettes for the pair of us. While not wanting to actively encourage you, but I
think you’ll probably find you’ll smoke a bit more now you can do so openly at
home. That’s fine, you’ll find a natural level. Just please please be careful and
don’t burn the house down by being careless. And while I can’t forbid you from
smoking at school, like I said, if you’re going to take the risk, you have to accept
the consequences if you get caught. There are some nicotine patches in the
bathroom cupboard you can help yourself to, they’re no substitute for actual smoke
in your lungs, but they do help me take the edge off the cravings when I can’t
smoke for a while. I always keep some in my handbag, you might want to do the
same.” Gemma smiled, again thinking just how cool her mum was. “And finally,”
Karen continued, “I know you will, but always remember that you need to be
respectful of non-smokers who don’t love smoking like us smokers do. They’re
clearly missing out”, she said with a grin, “but don’t give us a bad name by
flaunting your habit around them.”
“I won’t mum, promise.” Gemma suddenly leaned over and gave her mum a
massive hug, squeezing her tight in a rare show of teenage emotion.
Glowing with emotion after the hug from her daughter, Karen topped up their wine
glasses then stood up, holding the wine bottle. “This should probably go back in
the fridge”, she said, heading to the kitchen leaving her daughter sat on the sofa.
After putting the bottle back in the fridge, she opened up one of the kitchen
cupboards, the cupboard where she kept her supply of cigarettes. She took a fresh
pack from the halfish full carton and walked back into the living room. “I feel a bit
weird doing this, but here’s a small present from me. Sort of feels a bit of a
moment having your first pack as an ‘outted’ smoker, if you know what I mean?”
Gemma smiled gratefully as she took the pack offered to her and tapped it hard
against the back of her wrist a dozen or so times, packing the cigarettes as she’d
seen her mother do countless times. “Thanks Mum.”
“You certainly seem to know the tricks of the trade!” said Karen while watching her
daughter.
“Well, I’ve had a good role model to copy over the years” Gemma responded,
offering her mother a cigarette from her pack that she’d just opened, having
extracted one herself and put it between her lips. She picked up the lighter from
the table and reached to light her mother’s cigarette before doing the same to her
own.
The two women dragged, and then inhaled in unison, exchanging a giggle as they
realised that they were inadvertently smoking in sync. After allowing the smoke to
fully saturate into the depths of their lungs, they intentionally exhaled in time with
one another, their cones of smoke clashing in the air between them.
They both smiled at one another, knowing their shared love of inhaling cigarette
smoke would bring them closer together: the perfect mother and daughter evening.
As they both found themselves reaching to de-ash their cigarettes, Gemma
laughed and simply said “mum, I think we’re gonna need a bigger ashtray!”
Chapter Two: Coffee and Cigarettes
Waking from sleep the next morning, Karen spent her first few seconds of
consciousness thinking several thoughts at once: it was the weekend; the sun was
streaming through the curtains; she needed to clear her throat; she wanted a
cigarette. Those last two thoughts were present pretty much every waking
morning, and as she rolled over to face her bedside table, she saw her pack of
Marlboro Lights strategically placed where it always was, with her lighter on top,
waiting for her attention. At that moment Karen remembered the events of the night
before: her daughter Gemma’s “coming out” as a smoker, and the happy evening
they’d spent together, chatting about anything and everything, while Gemma tried
to keep up with her mother’s smoking pace. She’d not quite managed this but
Karen had been oddly impressed at her efforts, even though she probably wouldn’t
admit this to anyone else. While understanding of her daughter’s nicotine
addiction, and proud of how honest she’d been with her mother about this, she still
felt a twinge of guilt at not putting up more of a fight before accepting Gemma as a
fellow smoker.
Still, Karen smiled as she sat up in bed, letting out a gentle smoker’s cough as she
did so. She pulled the duvet around her shoulders and then reached out for the
pack of cigarettes. She could tell as soon as she picked it up there were only a
couple left: no doubt the rate of cigarette consumption in this house was only going
to go one way now Gemma had access to ready supply of tobacco. Karen
extracted a cigarette from the pack, put it between her lips and brought it to life
with her lighter. The crackle of the burning tobacco in the otherwise silent room
was a sound Karen never tired of, knowing it was all part of the process of
delivering a dose of pleasure to her nicotine starved lungs, and as she pulled hard
on the cigarette, she again felt an itch in her throat. She inhaled, and really felt the
smoke tickle her windpipe as it made its way down into her chest to deliver an oh-
so-welcome wave of relief to every part of her body. Savouring the satisfaction that
rolled over her from her head town the tips of her toes, she let out another, firmer
cough as she exhaled, finally clearing her throat of the build of tar from the almost
two packs she’d puffed her way through yesterday. She picked up her ashtray and
propped it clumsily on the duvet, tapping the cigarette against it instinctively to de-
ash the tip as she got comfy propped against the headboard.
Her thoughts turning back to her daughter, she felt another jolt of guilt at the
influence she’d had on her daughter’s newfound smoking habit. When Gemma had
been young, and Karen simply couldn’t afford to smoke much as she did today,
she virtually never smoked in the house, and on the rare occasions she did it was
with the windows wide open and only once her daughter had gone to bed. But over
the years that rule had slipped: first she became less strict about throwing the
windows open, then she’d allowed herself to light up in her own bedroom. Then
gradually, as her dependency on nicotine grew more intense, she’d smoke in the
other rooms of the house, temporarily bringing her ashtray into the living room of
an evening, before eventually giving in to her addiction and permanently locating
an ashtray on the living room coffee table, as well as in the kitchen, office, and
most other common rooms of the house. Gemma had never complained or, as far
as Karen could remember, even commented on the ever-present haze of second-
hand smoke in the air. It was similar when they were in the car together: by the
time Karen was at her now established 30 or so cigarettes a day, she’d light up the
minute she sat in the driving seat, almost as instinctively as putting on her seatbelt.
Despite the nagging feeling of guilt, Karen couldn’t help but smile as she dragged
hungrily on her first cigarette of the day, thinking of the line Gemma had used last
night about smoking being “in their genes”. She knew what she meant: smoking
just felt so natural, and Karen convinced decided that her daughter would have
found a way to smoke, regardless of the home environment she’d been brought up
in, the minute she decided to experiment with smoking.
She spent the next few minutes just sitting in bed thinking her thoughts and
absentmindedly flicking through her phone, all the while admiring the way her
smoke mingled with the rays of light coming through the curtains hanging over the
window. The beauty of the way the smoked danced in the air was just one of the
many, many things that she loved about her habit. As she exhaled slowly towards
the window, the still cloud of smoke that hung in the air dispersed in a microsecond
as the jet of smoke that had just seconds before been in the deepest part of her
lungs impacted it full on. Another whisp of smoke spilled from her nostrils as she
sighed with pleasure, crushing out the now dark brown filter into the ashtray resting
precariously on her duvet.
She thought about lighting up another straight away but decided a cup of coffee
would complement cigarette number two perfectly. Placing the ashtray back in its
place on her bedside table, she threw the duvet back and climbed out of bed, the
pale pink crop top she was wearing on her top half riding up exposing her bare
midriff. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror opposite her bed and
paused to look at her own figure: at 33 years old she knew she was still attractive,
her pert D cup breasts looked good, her nipples just prominent poking through the
crop top. She turned slightly to admire her backside in the mirror and ran a hand
over her left buttock that was covered in a neon pink pair of hipster panties.
Turning back to face her reflection full on, she straightened her back and pulled her
just-below-shoulder length hair into a ponytail behind her head, securing it in place
with the hair tie that was loosely hanging from her wrist. Standing straight backed,
with her chest expanded and midriff again showing, she was suddenly struck by
the line Gemma had used last night that smoking will “turn our lungs black”. The
contrast between that rather unpleasant internal image, and her outwardly healthy
looking body staring her back in the mirror, suddenly gave Karen a slight shiver,
but one that wasn’t actually all that unpleasant. It momentarily caught her off
guard, and she couldn’t work out what she was feeling.
Brushing the thought off, she went into the bathroom to use the toilet, and then
gave her teeth a really good brush, something she was fastidious about given her
cigarette intake. She made a mental to note to book herself a hygienist
appointment, thinking she should make Gemma do the same now her teeth and
gums were going to be getting a first-hand coating of Marlboro’s finest on a more
regular basis.
Back in the bedroom, she pulled on a pair of baggy checked pyjamas that were
strewn over the back of a chair, drew the curtains and opened the window to air
the room, then picked up her cigarettes, lighter and iPhone and headed out of her
bedroom and downstairs.
She was greeted with a simple “hey mum” from Gemma as she walked into the
kitchen, Karen being taken slightly by surprise that her daughter was already up
and about, but then remembering that, of course, Gemma would be off to her
weekend job at a local coffee shop before too long. Gemma was sat at the table
eating a bowl of cereal, a coffee to her side as she had her iPad propped in front of
her. It still surprised Karen that her little girl was a coffee drinker, but then of course
she wasn’t that little anymore as the last evening had proved.
“How’s it going, you sleep ok?” replied Karen as she placed the items in her hands
on to the kitchen counter, before popping a coffee capsule into the Nespresso
machine and pressing the button which bought the machine whirring to life.
“I did, but I gotta say my throat feels a little dry today. I guess I’m not used to both
smoking quite as much as I did last night, and also I’ve not really smoked indoors
that much before.”
“I guess that makes sense. I always find there’s a subtle difference in taste
between an indoor and outdoor cigarette. And of course, you get more intense
smoke in your eyes and up your nose indoors – takes a bit of getting used to, I
remember that”, Karen said.
“After last night, I was thinking. You’ve never really told me about what happened
about your coming out as a smoker, were Nan and Grandpa pissed at you?”
Gemma asked.
“Not really. It just sort of happened, no big drama. I smoked a bit secretly in my
teens, I think they probably knew but never said much about it – even then it was
less taboo than it is today. But as soon as I got pregnant with you, I literally
stopped cold turkey.” Karen picked up her coffee from the Nespresso machine and
sat herself down opposite Gemma.
“Was that hard?” Gemma asked, looking shocked.
“Surprisingly no,” said Karen bluntly, “not really. I mean, I had the perfect reason to
stop didn’t I? And smoking while pregnant really isn’t the best look, even 17 years
ago.” As she said this, she reached for her Marlboros and took one out, offering
one to Gemma across the table. “Ha, still feels weird offering you one, I wonder if
that will ever go away?”
Gemma looked slightly hesitant. “I’m ok thanks, I normally don’t have one until I’m
out the door and walking to school or work, kinda feels a bit weird breaking that
schedule.”
“Course,” said Karen, before pausing briefly. “Love, please don’t think I’m
pressuring you to smoke more” said Karen, quickly withdrawing the pack, in almost
an embarrassed manner. She popped her Marlboro between her lips and lit up,
exhaling the first drag away from her daughter.
“You’re fine Mum, don’t worry. We’ll just go at our own pace.”
The two sat in companionable silence for the next few minutes, before Gemma
looked up from her iPad suddenly. “You know what, that does smell good” she
said, nodding towards the cigarette in her mum’s hand. “Everyone says how well
coffee and cigarettes go together. Well maybe it’s time I tried that.”
“Oh honey, you have no idea,” Karen laughed. “I mean I know I said I wouldn’t
pressure you, but a cig and a fresh coffee is one of life’s true pleasures…it’s up
there sex.” That last comment came almost as an afterthought, and Gemma
looked horrified.
“Err TMI Mum, I don’t want to know about your sex life” Gemma said, through a
half cringe half giggle sort of look, getting up and turning away from Karen to pop
make a fresh coffee at the machine on the counter.
Karen said nothing, not wanting to make her daughter feel awkward, but grinned to
herself as she actually thought that the only thing better than cigarettes and coffee
was cigarettes and sex, but she thought articulating this would probably tip
Gemma over the edge.
Gemma walked out without saying anything, but was back half a minute or so later,
carrying a pack of Marlboros. Picking up her coffee, she sat down where she had
been before, took a fresh cigarette out of the pack and held it under nose. “I love
how they smell just out of the pack, it’s so different to how a lit cig smells but both
are soooo good”, she said, and popped the cigarette between her lips. Karen knew
exactly what Gemma meant, and with a grin slid her lighter across the table. She
couldn’t help feeling jealous of the new sensory experience her daughter was
about to experience for the first time, and as Gemma picked up the lighter and
brought her first cigarette of the day to life, Karen took a double pump on her
smoked-to-the-filter cigarette that was now red hot between her fingers, and
crushed it out in the ashtray on the table. She watched Gemma take a drag,
performing what Karen had quickly noticed was almost her signature move of a
huge snap inhale off the light up, and the smoke disappeared in an instant down
Gemma’s throat and into her lungs, delivering her first dose of first hand smoke of
the day. She performed a combo nose and mouth exhale, and as the last whisps of
smoke trickled out of her nose, she picked the coffee cup up and took a deep sniff.
“Go well together, don’t they?!” said Karen, almost rhetorically.
“Hmmmmm” murmured Gemma as she took another drag, and this time she took a
little sip of coffee as soon as she’d inhaled the smoke down into her young body. It
was clearly still too hot to drink, and this was reflected on her face as the hot liquid
burned the inside of her mouth, resulting in a messy exhale of smoke.
Karen tried not to laugh and, leaving her daughter to smoke her cigarette and drink
her coffee, got up and started doing kitchen chores, clearing things from the night
before, emptying the dishwasher and so on. She found herself glancing towards
Gemma more than she would normally, struck by just how grown up her young
daughter looked, sat at the table, cigarette elegantly held to the right of her face,
her elbow resting on the table, her hand regularly bringing the slender burning tube
to her lips. Even across the kitchen, Karen could hear the familiar crackle of
burning tobacco as Gemma’s cheek muscles dragged on the cigarette, followed by
the faint popping as she removed the filter from her lips, then the subtle intake of
breath as she inhaled the smoke. Even with her biased mother’s hat on, Karen
realised that Gemma had serious smoking style, and recognised many of her own
smoking techniques in her daughter, which she realised Gemma had probably
picked up – either consciously or otherwise – having witnessed Karen smoke
countless cigarettes over her short life to date.
Gemma spoke, breaking the silence. “Well it’s fair to say I can see what the appeal
of these two together are for sure, and weirdly my throat feels a bit better than it
did.” She crushed out the cigarette in the ashtray and, taking the final sip from the
coffee cup, exhaled a lungful of smoke as she stood up and walked over to put her
cup in the dishwasher her mother had just emptied.
“I mean,” said Karen, stopping what she was doing, “it’s a bit of a grim thing to tell
you, but if you carry on smoking long term, you’ll notice it inevitably has some
effects on your body that probably aren’t ideal like a sore throat, or a bit of a
cough, but weirdly the best thing I find to clear that is a cig as soon as you can.
That reminds me, I think you should probably see the dental hygienist every six
months or so now like I do. I’m going to call them later and book myself in, shall I
make you an appointment too?”
Gemma said nothing for a few seconds. “I mean, if you think I must, sure. But…I’ll
brush my teeth extra hard if you think it’s important.” Karen could tell something
was bothering Gemma but did want to make her point that it was worth keeping an
extra close eye on the health aspects of smoking you could still control as a
smoker if you can.
“I can’t force you, but I really think you should. I’ll carry on paying until you leave
home, and then you can do your own thing and I won’t nag you!”
“Thanks Mum,” Gemma said quickly and sincerely, “I really appreciate that. I guess
it just feels a bit weird suddenly ‘coming out’ to the world as a smoker. No doubt
the dentist, doctor and stuff will give lectures about how bad it is, and while it’s one
thing to sneak cigarettes with friends like I have been, it somehow feels a big step
to do it so openly in front of the world.” She quickly followed this up: “please,
please don’t think I’m changing my mind about wanting to smoke, I do want to so
much, and I’m sooo grateful you’re supporting me and being so cool about it, but I
just need to come to terms with it all naturally if that makes sense.”
Karen suddenly felt guilty, worrying she’d put too much pressure on Gemma in
some way. As if she’d read her mother’s mind, Gemma countered this instantly.
“And don’t think for a minute I feel like you’re pressuring me, I know you just want
what’s best for me as you always have done, and I think you’re the best for that.”
Karen put her hand on daughter’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’m sure there a
lot of people who’d say letting their teenage daughter smoke openly, and helping
her get a supply of cigarettes is the absolute *worst* thing a mother could do, but
life isn’t always simple, is it?”
“Don’t be silly mum, some things are meant to be…it’s in our genes, remember?!”
laughed Gemma, referring back to their conversation the night before.
They both laughed, and Gemma picked up her phone to look at the time. “Shit,”
she said, “I need to leave in the next few minutes, or I’ll be late for work.”
“Do you want a lift?” Karen asked straight away.
“No, it’s good thanks, Mum. Anyway, the walk is very much part of my routine as
you know,” said Gemma with a smile, obviously referring to what she’d said earlier
that morning about her having a cigarette on the walk to school and work.
“Ha, of course. What time do you finish? If you don’t have plans, I’m happy to pick
you up, we can head into town if you like? Do the shops and get a bite to eat
maybe?” suggested Karen.
Gemma looked genuinely pleased at the suggestion. “Sure mum, that’d be nice –
I’ve no plans after work, and finish at. I’ll meet you outside the coffee shop?”
“OK love, perfect. I’ll see you then. Hope work goes alright.”
“Thanks, mum” said Gemma, picking up her iPad from the table and heading
towards her room.
Feeling content with things, Karen popped up another coffee pod in the machine
and while it whirred away, she poured herself a bowl of cereal which she began
eating, perched against the counter, as the coffee machine produced it’s liquidy
goodness. As she sat down at the table a minute later with her coffee and
breakfast, Gemma came back in, wearing a figure-hugging t-shirt bearing the logo
of the coffee shop she worked in. She was carrying her phone, make up bag and
pack of cigarettes, and in that moment, Karen couldn’t believe how mature her
young daughter looked. As Gemma popped the things into her handbag on table,
she paused momentarily, as if remembering something. Leaving her bag on the
table she left the room again with a quick “back in a sec” to her mum.
Karen carried on eating her breakfast, and upon hearing footsteps coming back
down the hall a few minutes later looked up. Gemma walked in through the
doorway, showing her mum what she was carrying, speaking at the same time.
“Nicotine patches like you suggested. Don’t wanna get caught out!” She smiled as
she tucked the Nicorette box into her bag. Karen again watched her, not quite
believing this was her little girl.
“Good thinking. And if you want to take a spare pack of the real things too, just
help yourself” she said, pointing to the cupboard where she kept the cartons of
cigarettes she bought on a regular basis.
“Thank Mum, but I’ve got two packs on the go already what with those I already
had, and the pack you gave me last night…I’d have to smoke like Dot Cotton to get
through those before I’m home again!” laughed Gemma, referring to the infamous
chain-smoking matriarch from the popular British soap opera EastEnders.
“Anyway, see you later mum” she said as she headed for the front door. Halfway
down the hall she stopped, turned back to face and her mum and simply added
“love you”.
“Love you too sweetie”, said Karen, again feeling a huge sense of pride and love
towards her only child.
Karen had just taken the last mouthful of her cereal as she heard the front door
shut a few seconds later. Pulling a cigarette out from the pack on the table, she
brought it to life as she stood up, dropping her lighter back onto the table. Dragging
hungrily, she took the couple of steps across the kitchen to the window that
overlooked their small driveway that led up to the road outside their house. Karen
watched through the window as Gemma reached the road, where she stopped,
and Karen instinctively sensed what she was doing as she watched her daughter
retrieving something from the handbag that was slung over her shoulder. Looking
back up, Gemma put a cigarette between her lips, and let it dangle as she popped
her wireless earphones into her ears, dropping their case back into her bag. Still
standing stationary, she cupped her hands and bowed her head as she lit her
cigarette and continued to dangle it from her lips as she pulled her phone from her
bag, Karen guessed selecting a track to play for her short walk to work.
As she put the phone back in her bag, she turned, as if sensing she was being
watched. She gave a small wave with her left hand as with her right she removed
the cigarette from her lips. Karen returned the wave, smiling at her daughter, as
she took her own drag. Gemma looked away and started walking down the road.
She was almost immediately out of Karen’s sight behind the neighbour’s hedge,
the only sign of her presence was the rising cloud of smoke that Karen continued
to watch as she took another satisfying, delicious drag on her own Marlboro.
Chapter Three: Busy Saturdays
An hour or so later, and still in her pyjamas, Karen was singing out loud – and
badly – as she pushed the hoover round the living room. If asked, she always said
she hated housework, but truth be told she actually quite enjoyed the process once
she got going on it, particularly when she could put her music on loud and let off a
bit of adrenaline.
She had a clear day ahead of her until meeting Gemma at 3pm and had thought
she should do something productive with her day. She’d slowly worked her way
around the house, making it look spick and span. The only room she’d not cleaned
was Gemma’s. They generally had an understanding that Gemma would keep her
own bedroom clean and tidy, but Gemma had no issue her Mum going into her
room. Pausing and thinking about things, Karen was still feeling buoyed at the
pride she was feeling for her daughter’s growing up and her honesty, and she
decided while she was on a roll, she’d give her daughter’s room a quick clean.
She spent the next 10 minutes or so hoovering and dusting, trying hard not to
disturb anything in Gemma’s room. She took particular care of the large stack of
textbooks and notebooks on the desk, all part of Gemma’s fairly rigorous
homework schedule. Unlike her Mum, Gemma was a sciencey type, enjoying
chemistry more than any other subject, and excelling at it. Karen skimmed her
eyes over the handwritten notes, not really understanding much of it but impressed
at her daughter’s neat hand, having written out all the complex formulas and
things. She was careful not to disturb the order of the notes.
As she finished her cleaning, she realised that this was the only main room of the
house in which she hadn’t had to empty an ashtray and wondered if this would
soon change. Pausing for a minute, she remembered back to last night, and how
she’d told Gemma to be careful not to burn the house down now she could smoke
openly. While she’d obviously said this with a smile, she was serious – she was
always fastidious about properly extinguishing her own butts and wanted Gemma
to do the same.
Thinking about things, she went through to the living room, and opened a
cupboard in the corner of the room that was mainly full of household junk. She
quickly found what she was looking for, a spare ashtray still in its packaging. She
didn’t know where she’d got it, it was just one of those things acquired over the
years. Heading back to Gemma’s room, she picked up a pen and a Post It note
from the desk. Writing on the yellow sticky note, she simply scribed “Like I said,
please be careful and don’t start a fire.” then stuck the note to the ashtray
packaging and left it on the desk.
Closing the door of Gemma’s bedroom, she felt satisfied with her morning’s work,
and noting the smell of polish in the air, thought it smelt, as well as looked, clean
and tidy. Heading back into the kitchen, she instinctively picked up her pack of
Marlboro Lights from the countertop the moment she saw it – her growing need for
nicotine spiking the minute she saw the pack there – popped a fresh cigarette
between her lips and lit up. As so often was her way, she double pumped the first
drag, savouring the feeling of smoke in her lungs as she always did. She de-ashed
into the clean ashtray next to her pack and popped the cigarette between her lips
for a dangling drag and inhale, as she stretched her arms back, undid her ponytail,
and ran her hands through her hair, the Marlboro bobbing up and down between
her lips and she dangled smoked, enjoying the nicotine her body had for years
become accustomed to receiving on a regular basis.
She sat herself down at the table and flicked through her phone for the next few
minutes as she smoked, feeling content with how her Saturday was going. She
was on a slight endorphin high from her cleaning and thought about how good that
felt. As she took a drag on the half smoked cigarette, she thought a trip to the gym
was probably not a bad idea. Half of her felt buoyed at this idea, but half of her just
couldn’t be bothered. She tried to make it to the gym a couple of times a week, but
realistically was happy if she managed to find time – and motivation – once. She
knew she wasn’t super fit, but considering her smoking habit this probably wasn’t
surprising, and while she didn’t enjoy exercise like some people did, she enjoyed
how it made her feel afterwards.
Having made the decision to do a gym session, she thought she should press on
now before she found a reason to change her mind. Still holding the cigarette, she
headed to her room, tossing her phone, cigarettes and lighter onto the bed. As she
did so she took another drag, lodging the cigarette between her lips so that she
could turn to her cupboard and rummage through to find her gym clothes, which
she threw onto the bed behind her. Taking hold of the nearly smoked cigarette
again between her fingers, she sucked on it hard, the crushed-in-the-middle filter
feeling hot. Enjoying feeling the raw smoke cascading down her throat, she took
another intense drag as she exhaled the previous lungful of smoke through her
nostrils, and glancing at the end of the cigarette, thought she’d get her full money’s
worth, turning the drag into a double pump but knowing that was it as she was
about to start smoking the filter. She crushed the butt into the ashtray, a twinge of
sadness that that most satisfying cigarette was finished. She couldn’t help but
notice just how dark she’d stained the filter with those last few mammoth drags,
and felt an odd kick of excitement at the thought that her lungs were catching the
smoke just as the cork portioned part of the cigarette had done, albeit not in such
as visible manner. As she exhaled, she wanted to light up another right away, but
then her sports bra on the bed caught her eye and she thought the sensible gym
option was probably the choice she should make. She let out a deep sigh, relishing
the smokyness of her breath, and coughed gently. She stripped down to just her
pink hipsters, throwing her pyjamas onto the pillow on her bed.
Looking at her naked breasts in the mirror, she again couldn’t help but think of the
colour of the cigarette butt she’d just crushed out, and she massaged her chest
and breasts gently. The thoughts and physical sensations felt good, even if she felt
conflicted that she was deriving pleasure from the thought of what she was doing
to her lungs with every drag of smoke she locked away in their depths. As if on
cue, she let out another cough, her lungs trying to clear the fresh coating of tar
she’d just taken such visceral pleasure in depositing into her body. She coughed
harder, not hating the sensation at all.
Her eyes caught sight of the cigarette pack lying on the bed in the mirror and – the
sensible thoughts of just a few moments instantly forgotten – she twirled round,
grabbed the pack and had one out and lit within seconds, dragging ferociously as if
it had been hours since her last nicotine fix, not the matter of a minute it had
actually been. Turning back to the mirror, the cigarette – still between her lips from
the light up – stood erect as she sucked on it again, hard. She’d intentionally
inserted the filter far enough into her mouth to obscure the filter air holes, knowing
this would help to extract as much taste, flavour and “goodness” from the cigarette
as she possibly could. She inhaled, pulling the smoke as deep into her lungs as
she could, and seconds later took another drag, cheeks hollowed, smoke pouring
from her nostrils from the previous inhale as she did so. A third drag, a fourth, a
fifth. She’d power-smoked a third of the Marlboro in a matter of 20 seconds or so.
She sighed with pleasure as the last remnants of smoke flowed from her mouth
and nose, and she felt the slightest trace of a headrush from the massive dose of
nicotine she’d just pumped into her lithe, attractive body. Finally removing the hot
cigarette from her lips, she half turned and de-ashed into the ashtray by her bed,
looking at the end of the filter as she did so. She wasn’t a bit surprised to see it
was a dark, thick, sticky brown colour. It made her feel inexplicably excited, almost
aroused. She licked her lips and bought the smouldering tube in her fingers back
to her mouth, lodging it once again between her lips as she turned back to the
mirror. She let her tongue brush the end of the filter in her mouth, her taste buds
detecting a hint of bitterness from the tar-stained fibres. As she dragged hard
again, her cheek muscles straining, she again ran her hands over her breasts,
noting how firm her nipples had become. She inhaled through the sides of her
mouth, cigarette still standing proud, and felt her chest rise as the smoke hit the
depths of her lungs. She took another volumous drag and inhaled, wanting to
saturate every single part of her lungs with smoke. She held it, held it, held it…her
lungs bursting. Eventually she started to exhale, and only then removed the
cigarette from her lips, and noted with a strange sense of achievement that there
was virtually no visible smoke emanating from her mouth. She could hope that her
body had absorbed every ounce of nicotine and tar from this wonderful cigarette
she’d power smoked.
She coughed firmly, the last few minutes of intense smoking taking their toll on her
already strained respiratory system. She smiled at the pleasure she was getting
from the cigarette induced cough, and half turned to tap the cigarette on the
ashtray once more to knock off the accumulated granny ash. She took a more
sedate drag, and opened her mouth wide without inhaling, watching the smoke
wisp gently out of her mouth, loving how it swirled, almost dancing in front of her.
She sucked it back, watching it disappear in a moment, moving her head just a few
inches to aid the snap inhale and to be sure to suck every ounce of smoke out of
the air. She felt her chest strain slightly as her breasts rose firmly, knowing her
lungs were once again full of sweet, delicious, tar-laden smoke. She held the
inhale in her body for less time than she normally would, then exhaled messily,
with her mouth wide open. As the exhale faded, she shaped her tongue and
clicked out a fading smoke ring or two. She half coughed again, now feeling
genuinely turned on at the knowledge it was the smoke that she loved so much
causing that cough, that her lungs – just inches from her perfectly formed breasts –
were soaking up all the chemicals and toxins contained in that little white tube held
between her fingers.
In almost a trance like state, she gently caressed her right breast with her right
hand that held the nearly spent cigarette, and as she did so the filter that was
lodged between her fingers brushed her now bullet hard right nipple. As her mind
once again pictured the inside of her lungs the same colour as the filter of the
cigarette, a jolt of pleasure shot through her entire body was so intense that she
gasped for breath. As her left hand took the place of the right on her breast,
massaging it more firmly, she moved the right hand up to her mouth to drag once
more on the all-but-smoked Marlboro. Feeling her lips burn on the hot filter she
knew this would be the last drag, and she reluctantly pulled the cigarette from her
mouth and inhaled. As she did so, the fingers of her left hand firmly tweaked her
nipple, and her eyes momentarily rolled back in their sockets as an orgasmic wave
of delight filled her whole body and she gasped out loud with pleasure, her
breathing rushed. Opening her eyes, she took joy in watching whisps of smoke
cascade from her nostrils in short, sharp spurts as she caught her breath.
Turning away from the mirror, she crushed the butt in the ashtray, and flopped
back onto the bed, still panting slightly, conscious of a slight wheeze to her
breathing.
As she lay there, an overwhelming feeling of contentment engulfed her as she
thought about the brief but wonderful orgasm she’d just experienced. Yet that
nagging feeling of conflict was still there lurking. Was it odd she was getting off on
the knowledge that every cigarette she smoked was slowly polluting the inside of
her body, turning her lungs black and leaving her short of breath? Even as she
thought of that now, she felt a tingle of pleasure, and was aware of goosebumps
on her arms.
After five minutes or so of the total feeling of contentment, Karen realised she had
to mentally pull herself together, so took a deep breath and reluctantly got off the
bed where she’d been lying half naked since she’d finished her cigarette.
She picked up her sports bra and put it on, adjusting it to make it as comfy as it
could be. She pulled on a pair of pale blue lycra leggings, which she knew made
her ass look good, and then her gym top, which just showed a little of her tummy
between the bottom of the shirt and the top of the leggings. Over the top went a
white hoody which she zipped half way up. She looked in the mirror and smiled at
what she saw. Maybe she’d catch the eye of some gym hunk while working out.
She was quite happy being single, but at the same time wouldn’t mind meeting
someone she could settle down with, particularly as Gemma got older and the day
she left home grew closer.
She picked up her phone and cigarettes where they still lay on the bed and walked
back through to the kitchen. Knowing that there were only a few unsmoked
cigarettes in the pack, she opened the cigarette cupboard and took a fresh box
out, putting it into her hoody pocket alongside her phone. She picked up almost
empty cigarette pack and lighter from the table, and put them in her other pocket,
laughing to herself at the fact she was off to the gym with two packs of cigarettes
on her person.
After putting on her bright green trainers, she picked up her keys from the hooks
by the front door, and let herself out, locking the door behind her as she closed it. It
was a nice morning, with clear blue skies, and she enjoyed the warmth the sun
provided onto her face.
She unlocked her and opened the driver’s door, emptying the contents of her
pockets onto the passenger seat before climbing in shutting the door. As she
started the engine, she pulled on her seatbelt, and without thinking her left hand
reached across to the passenger seat to pick up the cigarette packet she’d just put
there. At first she picked up the unopened pack, but she put that back down,
instead going for the pack with just one single stick of goodness contained within.
She extracted it, and crushed the now empty pack with her hand, gently tossing it
onto the floor in front of the passenger seat, where it joined numerous other bits of
rubbish, but which were predominantly empty Marlboro boxes. She made a mental
note to clean them up later on.
She brought her cigarette to life with the lighter, tossing it back onto the passenger
seat gently, ensuring she could reach it when driving. With the cigarette dangling
between her lips, she knocked the car into gear, then paused, before slipping it
back into neutral. With the freshly lit Marlboro hanging from her lips, alternating
between limp and erect as she dangled dragged, she reached for the fresh pack
on the passenger seat, picked it up and packed it against her wrist a dozen or so
times. She then pulled the cellophane wrapper off, opened it and ripped out the foil
lip, exposing 20 clean white filters ready for her to smoke. She loved how ‘clean’ a
fresh pack looked and had always had a fascination at the contrast between how
pristine an unsmoked filter looked, compared with the dark brown stains present
after it had released its nicotine and tarry goodness. Both appealed in such
different ways. Dropping the now opened pack of cigarettes onto the seat, Karen
felt content that she could now retrieve one with needing to really take her eyes off
the road, should the need arise.
She popped the car into gear and pulled out onto the road, taking a final drag from
the prolonged dangle before removing the cigarette from her lips gently, noticing it
had a considerable granny ash hanging from the end. She cracked the window,
moving her hand holding the cigarette towards it, and gently flicked the end of the
butt with her thumb to dislodge the ash, letting it catch in the breeze, an act she
had performed so many thousands of times over the years, with the countless
cigarettes smoked while behind the wheel.
Enjoying the breeze, she wound the window down fully, resting her elbow on the
window as she started the short 15 minute or so drive to the gym. She smoked
effortlessly, but savoured every drag as she always did, the smoke tasting and –
particularly – smelling so good intermingled with the cool, fresh breeze from the
open window.
As she often did, she felt a twinge of disappointment taking the final drags,
knowing that the pleasure she was extracting from the act of smoking was going to
end, at least until the next cigarette. It would have been so easy to simply light
another, but Karen knew that she had to be sensible, particularly as she was on
her way to a workout. She crushed out the butt in the ashtray by her gear lever,
hardly taking her eyes off the road for a moment.
After 10 minutes or so, with just a half mile or so to go until she reached her
destination, suddenly the cars in front began to slow down and Karen gently
braked her Toyota to a halt, taking her place in the traffic jam that had formed. She
impatiently tried to peer out of the window to see round the car in front, trying to
get an idea of how long the queue was, but she couldn’t tell. Instead she sat back,
turned the radio up a notch and prepared to wait however long it would be,
frustrated to be so close to her destination but effectively stuck.
After a minute or so, and still going nowhere, Karen got a whiff of a smell she knew
so well, fresh cigarette smoke. Like a bloodhound getting a scent she looked
around the immediate surrounds, spotting a middle-aged woman on the pavement
just across from her car, puffing on a cigarette. The smell and sight immediately
sent her nicotine dependency mad, and almost subconsciously she reached for
her own pack on the seat next to her, her fingers going into autopilot as she had a
cigarette out of the pack, between her lips and alight before she’d really even
stopped savouring the smell of the second hand smoke whafting across the road
and into her car.
At the same moment as the first hand smoke from her cigarette hit her lungs, the
traffic in front started moving suddenly, and Karen laughed, thinking that of course
a cigarette just before arriving at the gym was the kind of warm up she was sure
personal trainers all over the world would endorse…or not.
Karen pulled into the car park of the gym a little under two minutes later, her
cigarette barely half smoked. With her window still wound down, she parked up
and turned the engine off, undoing her seat belt while scooching in her seat,
adopting a slightly unusual position, half leaning on the bottom of the open window.
She half closed her eyes as she sunned her face, taking a deep drag, but then
caught her reflection in the wing mirror on the car door. Enjoying watching herself
smoking, she attempted a French inhale, but the gentle midday breeze made it
look messy, and she snapped the residue smoke hard, creating an almost vacuum
like effect as the lingering smoke got sucked down into her chest.
As she exhaled, she heard what was clearly a fake, exaggerated cough, and she
turned her head slightly to a women, slightly older than herself, walking towards
the gym entrance. Her path must have been taking her through the not even visible
trial of secondhand smoke Karen was emitting, and she clearly objected to the
smell. She fake coughed again and glared at Karen who, genuinely not wanting to
offend, immediately pressed the window-up button, gave a little wave of apology
with her hand that held her now almost finished cigarette, and mouthed “sorry”
towards the fake-cougher, smiling apologetically. Karen really did try and be
respectful towards non-smokers but did think this was a little bit of a dramatic
reaction to what can’t have been strong smoke when the woman was over 20
yards away! As she got nearer Karen’s car, Mrs. Fake-Cough stared right at her
through the window and shook her head, clearly in disgust at Karen’s smoking:
either that, or Karen had offended her in some other way, but she couldn’t for the
life of her think what she may have done!
With her standard “end of cigarette sigh of sadness”, and ever so slightly regretting
the gym decision now it was actually upon her, Karen thoroughly stubbed out the
cigarette in the car ashtray as she exhaled through her nose, then without thinking
picked up cigarettes, lighter and phone and popped them into her hoody pockets
as she climbed out of her car, zapping it locked behind her as she headed for the
entrance, a renewed sense of energy in her step as she thought of how good her
post workout nicotine hit would feel.
At the same time as Karen was striding purposefully towards her cardio session,
her young daughter Gemma was about to give her own respiratory system a
workout of a different kind. She’d been on her feet since arriving at the little café at
a shade before 9am, and was well overdue a break. Her manager, a mumsy
middle aged lady called Joanne, had almost ordered her to stop work for a few
minutes and to have some time off her feet.
She’d spent the last hour or so waiting on tables outside the front of the café where
smoking was permitted, and every so often she’d get a whiff of fresh tobacco as a
customer enjoyed a cigarette with their coffee. At first she liked this, but as time
went on it became less pleasurable but only because it was making her aware how
much she herself wanted a cigarette, the nicotine levels in her body dropping after
her last smoke nearly three hours previously. She found herself glancing, almost
irritably, at an older gentleman who was smoking as she put his coffee down on the
table.
For the last few months, Gemma had always taken a short walk on her lunch
break, having a cigarette away from the eyes of her co-workers before heading
back to have something to eat, but today she felt confident enough to simply head
out of the back of the café, where there was a small yard with a table and chairs
that the staff took turns to sit down at when they had their breaks. Having picked
up her bag from the coat rack by the door to the kitchen, she sat down outside,
and immediately reached into the bag she’d placed on the table in front of her,
extracting her pack of Marlboro Lights, and pulling one out. She put it between her
lips and let it dangle as she fished around in her bag for her lighter, instinctively
drawing on the unlit cigarette as she did so, savouring its sweet taste. Having
found what she was looking for, she lit the tip of the cigarette, drawing hungrily for
a few seconds before pulling the smoke down hard into her lungs. It felt good, and
she immediately returned the cigarette to her lips for more, exhaling through her
nostrils as she took another long drag. By now the nicotine was coursing through
her blood and the craving she been experiencing subsided suddenly, like a weight
lifting from her young shoulders.
She leaned back, picking her phone from her bag, and sat in silence for a minute
or so as she responded to a few WhatsApp messages she’d received,
interspersed with regular long, purposeful drags on her cigarette. Hearing
someone coming outside, she looked up, and Joanne walked out, clearly surprised
to see Gemma sitting there smoking. “Gemma, I didn’t know you smoked!” she
said as a half question.
“Yeh I do, sorry, I thought we were allowed to smoke out here. Is that not right?”
Gemma replied, slightly embarrassed. “I can put it out if you want?” she added
quickly.
“No, you’re fine, it’s not a problem. I was just a little surprised. I didn’t know you
were a smoker” said Joanne, sitting herself down opposite Gemma.
“You…a smoker” – those words kept repeating themselves in Gemma’s head as
she took a drag, inhaled and then purposefully turned her head to the side to
exhale away from Joanne. “You…a smoker”. It was the first time she’d heard
herself described that way. It sounded good.
Noticing the courteous sideways exhale Gemma had performed, Joanne smiled.
“That’s very considerate, but feel free to blow it this way. I haven’t smoked a
cigarette for over 20 years ago, but I still really enjoy the smell of second-hand
smoke.”
“You used to smoke? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Quit when I fell pregnant and haven’t smoked since” said Joanne matter-of-factly.
After a brief silence she carried on: “I suppose I still do miss it sometimes, not just
the smell I mean. The act of just having a cigarette, a moment to yourself.”
Taking another drag, Gemma smiled and nodded, then snap inhaled, taking the
ball of creamy grey deliciousness down into her young chest. “Definitely” she said,
quietly.
“Well,” carried on Joanne, looking a bit stern, “I do hope you know what you’ve got
yourself into. It’s one thing to start but, trust me, it’s a whole other thing to stop.
And I can’t imagine your Mum will be too thrilled when she finds out. My youngest
is only 14 but they’d be total hell to pay if I found out she’d tried it, let alone actually
started smoking.”
“Funnily enough my mum actually found out last night. She was cool with it”, said
Gemma, a little defensively. “I’d rather be open with her than hide it.”
Joanne looked shocked, but half seemed to backtrack to her previous stern line. “I
suppose you’re right, in some ways. Good the two of you can be so…open…about
these things”, she said, only sounding half convinced. She watched as Gemma
stood up, taking a double pump on the all-but-finished cigarette she held, and
crossed to the wall mounted ashtray to stub it out. Just as she reached to so, she
changed her mind, taking one final drag, which she inhaled greedily, appearing to
hold the smoke in her lungs for a ridiculously long time, before letting out the
faintest exhale. Joanne thought that she seemed quite adept at the act, and
wondered how long Gemma had been smoking for. She really didn’t have Gemma
down as a teen smoker: she was a well spoken, intelligent, hard working and polite
girl, not at all the image Joanne had of a someone who smoked with parental
permission at barely aged 16. She chastised herself in her head for being so
judgemental, realising she was probably Gemma’s age when she first tried a
cigarette, even if her parents didn’t find out until she was 18, and they’d hardly
been happy about it.
Standing up too, she smiled at Gemma. “Go and help yourself to a sandwich, and
once you’ve had that I’ll see you back inside? You’re finishing at three today, right,
so you’ll be out of here before you know it.”
Forty-five minutes or so later, a red faced, sweating and breathless Karen watched
the last few seconds tick down on the run programme she’d just put herself
through on the treadmill. As the clocked finally showed 00:00, she felt the conveyor
belt under her feet begin to slow, and as it stopped she put her hands out to the
supports either side of her, and bent over, breathing deeply. Her legs felt like jelly,
but she was satisfied with her gym session. A quick bike ride to get limbered up,
then some free weights, followed by a three mile run on the treadmill. She didn’t
think that bad going at all considering the likely state of her lungs after her earlier
performance at home in front of the mirror. As she remembered the moment, she
realised how good her post workout cigarette would feel.
Stepping off the machine, she squatted down, still breathing heavily but at a rate
that was slowly returning to normal. She couldn’t help but hear a slight wheeze as
she took in gasps of oxygen, a wheeze she unquestionably knew was caused by
her smoking as her lungs failed to absorb oxygen as quickly as they’d like, their
capacity reduced due to the vast quantities of tar she’d knowingly, and pleasurably,
inhaled into them over the years. Again, Gemma’s words rung through her head in
what was a far from unpleasant way: “it’ll turns our lungs black”. A tingle ran
through Karen’s body as she thought of just how much she wanted to fill her no
doubt black lungs with smoke at that very moment and to deposit yet more tar,
even as she still wheezed following her exercise.
Wiping away the sweat that trickled down her face, she looked around for her
hoody that she expected to see by the side of the treadmill. She couldn’t see it,
and felt a slight moment of panic, realising she was most concerned that it
contained not her keys and phone, but her Marlboros. The awareness of her need
for nicotine spiked. Still not seeing it, she looked over to the free-weights section of
the gym where she’d been before and was relieved to see the hoody at the side of
the mats where she must have left it. She slowly walked over to collect it,
stretching her limbs as she went.
Picking it up, she felt the contents of the pockets through the material, relieved
when she felt everything was still there, particularly when she felt the familiar
shape of her Marlboro box, which sent another jolt of desire for nicotine through
her body, which was only amplified when she wiped her face with the sleeve of the
hoody, exposing her nose to the strong smell of tobacco where the multiple
cigarettes she’d smoked had left their odour on the material of the sleeve. Even
after all the years she’d been exposed to that smell on her clothes and belongings,
it still smelt good to Karen.
Leaving the main room of the gym, she stopped to get a plastic cup of water from
the water cooler, looking at herself in the mirror behind it as she did so. She
laughed to herself, thinking what a sweaty mess she looked, with her hair slightly
matted to the side of her face, which was a strange cross between red and pink.
The top of her gym top had a ring of sweat around the neckline, and it clung to her
breasts in a slightly alluring way, she couldn’t help but think. As she downed the
cold, refreshing water she suddenly felt the need to cough, and after swallowing
quickly, let out a moist, barking cough, loud enough that a woman at the far end of
the corridor walking past with a gym bag over her shoulder turned abruptly to look
at Karen. Of course, it was none other than Mrs. Fake-Cough from earlier in the
car park. “Sorry, water went down the wrong way” offered Karen, smiling, tapping
her throat as if to help ease her congestion.
Mrs. Fake-Cough didn’t return the smile. Instead she sneered slightly, and
muttered under her breath, but intentionally loud enough for Karen hear “too many
cigarettes more likely.”
Karen smiled sweetly back at her, a half-inquisitive look on her face as she said
“pardon?”, despite having heard the barb. Mrs. Fake-Cough turned and walked
away. Karen’s over the top smile faded instantly, and she could only wonder what
was going on in the other woman’s life to make her so miserable. Turning away,
she re-filled her cup and gulped the water down quickly, then dropped the cup into
the bin, pulled on her hoody and headed for the exit, her breath finally feeling like it
had returned to its pre-workout pace.
As the sliding doors opened, she felt the early afternoon sun on her face and took
a welcome breath of fresh air, pleased to be out of the air conditioned stuffyness of
the gym. With that relief in her mind, and without realising the irony of what she
was doing, she instinctively pulled the cigarettes out of her pocket, and had one
between her lips practically as she crossed the threshold of the doors. Stopping for
a half a pace to bow her head slightly, cup her hands and bring the cigarette to life,
Karen felt her cheeks hollow as she dragged hard, her body desperate to extract
as much smoke from the cigarette as she could. Withdrawing the cigarette from
her lips with a pop, she inhaled firmly, enjoying the slight burn she felt at the back
of her throat as it cascaded down her throat. As the smoke filled her lungs, the
familiar wave of satisfaction rolled over her as the molecules contained within the
smoke absorbed through the walls of her lungs and into her bloodstream, the
nicotine she longed for so badly pumping around her body in seconds. She held
the smoke in her lungs and returned the cigarette to her lips for another drag, and
seconds before she inhaled the fresh smoke, she let the contents the first hit
through exhale her nostrils. It felt so good after the cardio workout she’d just put
herself through, and as Karen held the cigarette between her fingers, she couldn’t
help but notice the dark tinge the filter had already taken on after only two —
admittedly intense — drags. She felt goosebumps form on her arms and smiled to
herself as she took another fulsome drag.
As she her approached her parked car, she popped the cigarette between her lips,
enjoying power smoking as it dangled, her nicotine levels finally returning to a
“normal” level. She unlocked the car, climbed in, and strapped her seatbelt on.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she laughed again at what a mess she looked:
cheeks flushed, hair matted to her forehead and side of her face, and a glowing
cigarette lodged comfortably between her lips. She took another monster drag, still
watching herself in the mirror, and taking the cigarette between her fingers again,
performed a huge snap inhale, leaning forward ever-so-slightly to “catch” the ball
of smoke and suck it down into her chest which she felt expand under the slight
strain of the seatbelt. Delicious, was all she could think, as she stared the engine
and backed carefully out of the parking space, and smiled happily.
by Billybobtombo