Aunt Carol was gone. I was depressed. The only thing that made
me happy was knowing that my lungs were now worse than they
had ever been. My goal was to make sure they never got any
better. My summer with Aunt Carol had inspired me to smoke
more than I ever had. I was now easily smoking three packs of
Winstons per day. I was determined to keep up that pace
throughout the new school year. I was about to enter the eighth
grade. I was thirteen but I felt like I had the lungs of a 75 year
old man. I had no stamina. I could no longer participate in
sports. I couldn’t even climb stairs without becoming winded. My
coughing spells were becoming longer and more frequent. I
wheezed when I breathed. My chest hurt when I woke up in the
morning. It was everything I ever wanted. I should have been
happy, but I couldn’t stop thinking of Aunt Carol. I would have to
focus all of my energy on ruining my lungs. There would be no
more distractions. I wanted lung cancer more than ever. Maybe
that would make me stop thinking about Aunt Carol.
The summer of 1967 was nearly over. It was the first day of
school. I was not looking forward to school. It would only cut
into my smoking time. How could I maintain my three pack-a-
day habit while going to school full time? It would definitely be a
challenge. I had been thinking about it for some time. I would
smoke as many cigarettes as possible on my way to school
each
day and on my way home. I would smoke between classes in the
restrooms. I would go outside during lunch hour and chain-
smoke. I would smoke all night in my bedroom as soon as I got
home from school. Somehow, I would do it.
I got up early, drank some flat, warm Coke from a can which
had
sat open all night, skipped breakfast, and left my house. I
breathed the cool morning air deep into my lungs and
started
coughing. My lungs were in such a pathetic state they could not
handle the sudden rush of fresh air. They were not used to it.
They needed Winston smoke. They needed a lot of it. I pulled
my Winstons out of my shirt pocket and lit one up. I inhaled
deeply and held the smoke in my lungs. I inhaled two more deep
drags without exhaling. My lungs finally started to feel normal. I
could no longer smell the fresh air. I inhaled drag after drag of
fresh Winston smoke deep into my lungs. Walking slowly, I
chain-smoked eight Winstons on the way from my house to the
bus stop. I lit up my ninth just as I saw the bus coming. I triple-
pumped my Winston, inhaled the smoke deep into my lungs,
and
gently stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of my shoe. Not
wanting to waste a nearly whole cigarette, I put the
partially
smoked Winston back into my pack. I would smoke it later. The
filter was already a beautiful brown from the few deep
drags I
had taken. I felt a rush as I realized my lungs were a much
deeper brown. With my Winston smoke held deep in my lungs
and a boner forming in my pants, I stepped onto the school
bus.
I immediately noticed a familiar aroma. Even with my diminished
sense of smell, and even with the nicotine from my morning
Winstons still hot in my throat and nostrils, I could tell
someone
was smoking on the bus. I started looking at the windows on the
bus as I walked slowly to the back. I saw one window cracked
open about an inch. There as a pretty girl with long, brown,
straight hair sitting next to it. Sure enough, I saw a curl of
smoke coming up from her seat and going out the opening in
the
window. I sat directly across the aisle from her.
The girl looked at me as the bus took off. She was wearing a
black leather jacket, unzipped. It wasn’t cool enough to be
wearing a jacket, but it sure looked good on her. I could now see
that she had a lit cigarette cupped in her hand. It was a cork
filter, but I couldn’t tell the brand. I was, of course, immediately
interested. The girl leaned her head down below the back of the
seat in front of her and took a long drag from her cigarette. I
watched the tip of her cigarette glow a bright orange as
her
cheeks indented deeply. She inhaled so deeply I could see her
chest expand. It was a beautiful chest. She held the smoke in
her lungs for a long time before exhaling toward the window
opening. I knew an erection was going to be unavoidable. She
looked at me and said, “You’re not going to tell on me, are
you?”
I smiled, pulled my Winstons out of my shirt pocket, and
said, “Not if you don’t tell on me,”
To my amazement, she laughed and said, “Sit over here. You can
help hide my smoke.”
I moved across the aisle and sat down next to her. As I got
closer, I could see that she was truly beautiful. Her skin was soft
and clear, with a slightly pale complexion. Her hair was long and
silky. She had full lips and a pointed, slightly turned-up nose.
She wasn’t overweight and she wasn’t skinny. She was what I
would describe as “just right”. She took a final, double-pump
from her cigarette and flicked the butt through the open window.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of Kools. I
could see at least two more unopened packs of Kools in her
purse. I had noticed a lot of girls smoking Kools the previous
school year. But, because I had been so into my Winstons, I had
never bothered to try them. Winston and Kool were the two
most
popular cigarettes of the day. Probably half of the kids who
smoked were Winston smokers. I guessed that another thirty-
five to forty percent smoked Kools. The rest smoked various
brands, including Camel Regulars and Pall Malls, which were
still
very popular among teenagers in the late sixties. Marlboros had
not yet hit it really big, although I do remember a couple
of girls who smoked Marlboro Reds at that time.
“Hi,” I said. “My name’s Chris.”
Before she could answer, she flicked her lighter, lit up,
and took
three deep drags in succession from her Kool. She held the
smoke deep in her lungs for a good twenty to thirty seconds
before exhaling. “Ahhhh, I needed that,” she said, talking smoke
out of her mouth as she spoke. “Sorry, my name’s Kathy. I just
can’t get going until I’ve had four or five Kools in the morning.
They wake my lungs up.”
“I know what you mean,” I said as I lit up a Winston. “I feel the
same way about my Winstons.” Nothing was more erotic to me
than hearing a girl talk about her own lungs.
“Try to keep your cigarette down low, so the bus driver
can’t see
it in his mirror,” she said. “And be sure to blow your smoke
toward the open window.”
“OK,” I said. “You sound pretty experienced.”
“I’ve been smoking on school buses for a couple of years,”
she
said. “The bus driver won’t say anything as long as you don’t
make it too obvious.”
I could hardly believe what was happening. This girl seemed
almost too good to be true and she had asked me to sit next
to
her. I said, “Is that Cathy with a ‘C’ or Kathy with a ‘K’?”
“With a ‘K’,” she said.
“‘K’ like in Kool,” I said.
She giggled and said, “That’s me, Kathy Kool.”
“Are you new here?” I asked. “I haven’t seen you before.” God
knows, I would have remembered Kathy if I had seen her
before.
“Yes,” she said, inhaling a deep lungful of Kool smoke. “We
moved here over the summer, from Ohio. My father got
transferred here.”
“Was it hard leaving your friends?” I asked.
“I guess so,” she said. “But, I’m sure I’ll make new friends.” She
smiled at me as she took a long, cheek-hollowing drag from
her menthol-freshened cigarette.
I quickly finished my Winston, felt bold, and said, “Would
you
mind if I tried one of your Kools? I’ve never tried them.”
She said, “Here, take a drag of mine first. Then, in case you
don’t like it, you won’t have to smoke the whole thing. Some
people find them too strong.”
I felt as if I must be dreaming. I took the Kool from Kathy’s hand
and placed the filter between my lips. It was moist from her lips.
I took a long cheek-hollowing drag and inhaled deeply. The cool
menthol felt good as it hit the back of my throat. I felt a cool
sensation deep in my lungs as I inhaled. The smoke was not
harsh. I felt as if I could inhale more. I took a second drag and
inhaled that into my lungs as well.
As I inhaled my third drag from Kathy’s Kool, without
exhaling, Kathy raised her eyebrows and said, “You must
have some
serious smoker’s lungs if you can take in that much smoke.” The
erection, which I had previously thought might be
unavoidable, was now intense, throbbing, and ready to
burst.
I offered Kathy her cigarette back, but she laughed and
said,
“Finish it. You look like you’re enjoying it.”
I was enjoying it more than she knew. “I don’t know why I’ve
never tried Kools before,” I said. “I’ve seen plenty of kids
smoking them at school. These are really good.” I meant it, too.
The cool feeling of menthol in my throat and lungs was
exhilarating.
“I love ‘em,” Kathy said. “They make my lungs feel warm and
frosty at the same time.” She extracted a fresh Kool from the
open pack in her purse and lit it up.
I could not believe the erection I was trying to suppress. It was
so arousing to hear a girl talking about her own lungs. Warm and
frosty–what a wonderful way to describe one’s lungs. I said,
“How long have you been smoking?”
“I started when I was eight,” she said.
“Wow!” I said, truly envious that she had started so young. “I
didn’t start until I was ten. Have you always smoked Kools?”
“No,” she said as she double-pumped her cigarette. “The first
time I tried smoking, I stole some of my father’s Viceroys. My
girlfriends and I wanted to try smoking and I knew he would
never notice, so I took a pack. They were OK. Later I tried lots
of different brands. My girlfriends and I would smoke whatever
we could get. I’ve smoked Winstons, Marlboros, you name it.
I’ve even smoked Pall Malls and Camels.”
“I’ve tried Pall Malls,” I said. “They’re really strong. I like
them, but I like having a filter.”
Kathy took a long drag from her Kool and said, “Me too. I like the
feel of the filter in my mouth. And, I don’t know why, but I like
to watch the filter turn from pure white to dark brown. It gives
me a kind of thrill. I hope that doesn’t sound too sick.” She
giggled as she inhaled more Kool smoke deep into her lungs.
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you kidding? I love that myself,”
I said, amazed that I was talking to a girl my own age who
seemed to love smoking as much as I did. “So, how did you start
smoking Kools?” I took another drag and filled my lungs with
fresh mentholated smoke.
“One day, a couple of years ago, one of my girlfriends had
a pack
of Kools. I had never tried menthols before. I tried one and I
couldn’t believe the rush I felt. They’re strong, but they feel so
good in my lungs. I feel like I could hold the smoke in forever.
Needless to say, I have been hooked on Kools ever since.”
I had such an erection, I could hardly stand it. I thought I was
going to ejaculate in my pants. “I can see why,” I said, taking
another drag from the cigarette that had been in Kathy’s mouth.
“I feel like I can inhale more smoke than I can with my
Winstons.”
“Exactly,” said Kathy. “I think the menthol kind of numbs your
throat and lungs so you don’t feel any irritation. I could just
chain-smoke these babies all day.” She took another long drag
and inhaled deeply.
“Just how much do you smoke?” I asked as I triple-pumped
the rest of the Kool and flicked the butt through the crack
in the bus window.
“Usually between three and four packs a day,” she said as
she took another cheek-hollowing drag.
“My God!” I said. “That’s incredible.” I hoped Kathy wouldn’t
notice the wet spot which was forming in my pants. I felt
humbled. I had been so proud of the fact that I had done so
much damage to my lungs at such a young age. I didn’t think
that anyone my age could have more lung damage than I did.
But Kathy had started smoking at an earlier age and smoked
more cigarettes per day than I did. Her lungs must be in even
worse shape than mine. “I wish I could smoke that much. Do
your parents let you smoke?”
“Yes,” she said. “When they first found out I smoked, they were
pretty mad. They grounded me and tried to keep me from
smoking. But, every time I left the house, I got cigarettes from
my girlfriends. I started sneaking out of the house at every
opportunity. My parents finally decided to give in. They said they
would rather have me smoke in front of them than sneak
around
behind their backs to smoke. That was about two years ago. I
smoke all I want to now.”
“You are so lucky,” I said. My dick was ready to explode. I
shook a Winston loose from the pack in my shirt pocket, lit
up,
and inhaled deeply. I inhaled three deep drags in rapid
succession and held the smoke in my lungs. I could still taste the
menthol from the Kool I had just smoked. “Do you smoke as
soon as you wake up in the morning?”
“Oh my God, yes!” she said. “Before I can even get out of bed I
have to smoke a couple of Kools.”
My dick was rock hard. “I do that, too,” I said. “I usually have a
big coughing spell, but it doesn’t stop me from smoking.”
Kathy inhaled smoke deep into her lungs and said, “Ah yes,
my
morning coughing spell. I’m so used to it now, it doesn’t even
bother me.”
Could this girl be any more perfect, I wondered.
She said, “I find that if I just stay motionless in bed,
and smoke
two or three cigarettes, my coughing doesn’t last as long. But, if
I get up and start doing stuff right away, I will sometimes
cough for thirty or forty minutes.”
I triple-pumped my Winston. This girl was incredible.
“I know this might sound weird,” she said. “But, I kind of look
forward to my morning coughing spells. They make me want to
smoke more.”
Kathy was a goddess. That is the only word that could accurately
describe her. She finished off her cigarette, flicked it through the
window, and reached into her purse for another. I was in awe.
She placed a fresh Kool between her lips, lit it, and
inhaled smoke
deep into her beautiful lungs. “it’s funny,” she said. “I used to
hear my mother coughing in the morning and I thought it
would
be terrible to be like her. Now, I’m just like her. And, in a funny
way, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel closer to her.”
“So, your mother’s a smoker, too?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s why she finally gave in and let me smoke. Both my
parents smoke. They couldn’t be hypocrites and tell me I couldn’t
smoke.”
“What brand does your mother smoke?” I asked.
“She used to smoke Chesterfield Kings,” she said. “She would
always say she hated smoking through a filter because she
couldn’t get enough smoke. But, every now and then, when she
was out of cigarettes, she would bum one of my Kools. She was
amazed at how strong they were for a filter cigarette. And, like
me, she loved the feeling of the menthol in her throat and lungs.
Eventually, she got to like them so much, she switched to
them permanently.”
“Your mother came up to Kool, so to speak,” I said.
“Yeah,” she laughed. “She came all the way up.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I had an instant mental image of
mother and daughter chain-smoking Kools all day while
chatting
and watching soap operas. It made me jealous. I was in love
with Kathy’s mother and I had never met her. Of course, I
suddenly realized I was even more in love with Kathy. Was it
possible?
“It’s really great for me,” said Kathy. “There are always cartons
of Kools in the house. I will never be in danger of running out of
cigarettes.” She closed her eyes as she took another long cheek-
hollowing drag from her Kool. She appeared to be in love with
her cigarettes.
“Do you do any kind of sports or physical activity?” I
asked with anticipation.
“Oh, God!” She started laughing. A burst of smoke shot out of
her lungs with each laugh. “Are you kidding? With my lungs? I
get out of breath so fast. I hate it when we have to run or play
sports in gym class. I’d rather sneak into the girls’ bathroom and
smoke a few Kools. Sometimes I do just that. I’ve been
suspended from school a few times for smoking.” She grinned a
big grin and I noticed her teeth were slightly yellowed. Then I
watched as she placed the filter of her Kool between her
beautiful lips and began to suck.
I had a tremendous urge to reach into my pants and jerk
myself
off right on the spot. I resisted and squirmed in my seat. “Don’t
you hate stairs?” I asked.
She had to finish her cheek-hollowing drag before she could
answer. “Stairs are the worst,” she said. “More than one flight
and I’m panting. More than two flights and I feel like I’m going
to have a heart attack. God, I sound like an old lady, don’t I.”
She again raised her Kool to her lips and filled her lungs
with menthol freshness.
“I know exactly how you feel,” I said. “I feel like an old man and
I’m only thirteen. I used to play a lot of sports, but I can’t do it
anymore. I can’t even imagine how I’ll feel when I’m sixty.”
Kathy held her cigarette up, looked at the cigarette
between my fingers, looked me in the eye, and said, “Honey,
I don’t think
either one of us will ever have to worry about turning sixty.” She
closed her eyes, took another long cheek-hollowing drag,
inhaled the smoke deep into her beautiful, sexy lungs and
held it.
I felt a cramping sensation and had to bend over slightly. With
the tops of my thighs I pressed my hard penis up tight
against
my abdomen. I kept pressing until the urge to ejaculate
disappeared.
Attempting to change the subject, I asked, “What grade are
you
in?” I was hoping for the right answer.
“Eighth,” she said.
“Me too!” I said. “Maybe we have some classes together. Do you
have your schedule?”
We compared schedules and discovered we were in two classes
together. I couldn’t believe this was happening. What had
started out as one of the worst days of my life was
suddenly turning into one of the best.
Kathy and I chain-smoked and talked all the way to school. I
decided I was going to buy some Kools at the first opportunity. I
had a feeling they were going to become my regular brand. I was
going to become a Kool guy. I did my best to make my erection
subside before I had to stand up and get off the bus. Suddenly I
was really looking forward to eighth grade.
(to be continued)