Tom’s Story – Smoking Fetish Story

Jake was tall and lean, moderately muscular, and handsome.
Although usually clean-shaven, he would sometimes not shave for a
couple of days, and the whiskers accentuated his masculinity. His
blue jeans (which he always wore) fit snugly around his narrow
hips, dropping to cover his cowboy boots. His western shirt was
tucked neatly into his jeans. The left breast pocket had a
familiar bulge where he always kept his Players light cigarettes (a
very popular Canadian brand). He loved his cigarettes. They were
his constant companion.

He had one son whom he also loved dearly, and his son idolized his
father.

From here on we will let son Tom tell his own story.

My dad was my best friend. I loved to sit close to beside him, or
on his lap, while watching TV or just sitting. The familiar smell
of cigarette smoke permeated his clothing and hair, making him more
manly to me than ever. I loved that smell. It was the smell of my
dad.

One day, when I was five and sitting with my dad as he smoked,
watching how much he liked it and seeing the plume of smoke come
out of his mouth and nose and curl cosily upward, I said to him,
“Dad, will you let me try that (meaning smoking)?” “Well, son, you
are a little young, but I guess I wasn’t much older than you when I
had my first cigarette, so why not?” “But before you actually
smoke a cigarette I’d like to play a game with you. You sit on my
knee and open your mouth. Then I will blow some of my exhaled
smoke into your mouth, and you breath it in.” The smoke, mixed
with air, went into my lungs and I could feel that it was no
ordinary air that I was breathing in. Then, as I breathed out, I
could see smoke coming out of my mouth. I said, “Dad, do that
again, only this time make it a bigger one.” So my dad took a long
draw on his cigarette, inhaled deeply and then blew the smoke into
my mouth, which I promptly inhaled. A much denser cloud of smoke
came out when I exhaled. It was fantastic, and it felt so good!
And so he did it again and again and I was beginning to feel the
wonder and exhilaration of the smoke in my lungs. It was dad’s way
of breaking in my lungs gently to what was about to follow.

When we had done this for awhile, dad took his pack of cigarettes
out of his pocket, removed two, one for himself and one for me. He
lit his first and then reached over and lit mine. “You have to
draw on the cigarette while I’m lighting it,” he said, as if I
didn’t know that already. This wasn’t the first time that I had
experience with a cigarette. Once when I was much younger we had a
group of friends visiting. As I wandered among them I spied a lit
cigarette burning in an ash tray. I picked it up, put it between
my lips, and sauntered among the guests, taking little puffs.
Everyone laughed, including my dad, who said, “Now is that quite a
little man, or what!”

But this was to be my big day. I drew on the cigarette and then
blew out the pleasant tasting smoke watching it leave my mouth. I
was looking just like my dad. But I knew that smoking wasn’t just
puffing and blowing out the smoke now that he had introduced me to
inhaling his smoke. I had watched my dad smoke for too long and
saw how, when he drew on the cigarette he would take a deep breath
and then moments later blow the cloud of smoke out into the air.
So, on the second puff I decided to do the same. As the smoke was
entering my throat I coughed a little, but enough of the smoke went
down into my lungs to make me feel a little dizzy but euphoric, as
every new smoker experiences. I like it. It felt so good. I
loved watching the exhaled smoke leave my body and join that of my
father’s. Well, I smoked that whole cigarette, and with every
puff, every inhale, it felt even better. It was one of the
greatest experiences of my young life.

My dad was jubilant. “Hey, young fellow,” he exclaimed, “you did
it! You smoked a cigarette, and you did it well. Now I know that
you are going to be a smoker just like your dad.” I felt like a
million dollars. I was smoking, and I was like my dad.

From that time on, whenever my dad and I were together, he would
take a cigarette from his pack for himself and then offer one to
me. I never refused, because by this time my body was not only
used to the smoke, but I was beginning to crave it. We sat and
smoked and talked father-son talk as we both inhaled that wonderful
smoke. Those were some of the best days of my life, and I felt so
close to my father because we were doing something together that we
both loved to do. I could tell that dad liked it too, because he
watched for every opportunity to share these times with me.
Sometimes we would go biking together, take a break and have a
smoke. Sometimes we went fishing and, again, took time out to
smoke together. Of course, by this time, my smoking was more than
an occasional cigarette, and so my dad would give me a pack
whenever I needed it. From age 5 on I became a regular smoker.

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