How I Learned to Drive and Smoke

"I know. Thank you."

I left him and sat down on the toilet, pondering the situation behind the closed door.

So Hannah had been right about Herr Schwarzbach. He basically wanted to get into my panties and got me to smoke because he had some kind of smoking fetish. On top of his obsession with my bare feet, painted nails and tattooed legs. How did I get into this? And, more importantly, out of it again?

I finished peeing, washed my hands and opened the door. Back in the small classroom at the front of the shop I put my cigarettes, lighter and phone back into my handbag and stretched out my right hand.

"Thank you for everything, Herr Schwarzbach. I really have to leave now," I said.

He took my hand and held it for far too long.

"But, Antje, I..."

I tried to move my fingers out of his grip. It became awkward.

"You're twice my age, you know that?" I said in a way that came out rather aggressively.

He let go of my hand.

"Yes. I know. Goodbye, Antje!" he said.

I turned around, went to the door, opened it and stepped into the bright sunlight. I took a few steps away from the driving school to make sure that I was out of Herr Schwarzbach's view.

10.

I lit another cigarette and just stood there for a minute.

I heard a voice behind me: "Antje!"

I turned around and saw Pascal. We hugged. He held me for a long time. Then we let go of each other.

We stood in silence for some seconds. I took a drag from my cigarette while keeping eye contact.

"You look so lovely today, Antje. Can I kiss you?" he asked and rapidly moved his mouth toward mine.

I was taken totally by surprise and said: "No!" because I didn't want to exhale smoke into his mouth and turned my head, so he awkwardly kissed my cheek while I exhaled a large smoke cloud.

Pascal took a step backwards with a startled look on his face:

"I'm sorry... I didn't...," he began.

"I mean yes! Absolutely!" I corrected myself after finally having emptied my lungs. I threw myself into his arms and we tongue-kissed for a long time.

We stood in a tight embrace without talking.

Then I explained:

"I just didn't want to blow my smoke into you while we kissed. That's why I turned my head. You don't know how long I've been wanting to kiss you."

He smiled:

"Oh, I don't mind your smoke."

"That' nice!" I said and took in another drag as we had finally let go of each other.

"Yes. Isn't it? I was wondering... Do you have any plans for now?"

The second time someone had asked me that within half an hour.

"Not really. I ought to go home and read. But I guess I'm far too drunk for that. I've just had I don't know how may glasses of Prosecco with my former driving instructor who wanted me to call him Gerd and who went on about how beautiful I was when I smoked and how much he enjoyed watching my bare feet and my tattooed legs in the car, and about how he had seduced his ex-wife, who had also been his student, and so on."

"So he came on to you?"

"Yes. You could say that. And the guy's fifty! But no. I don't have any particular plans. Why are you asking?" I said and took another deep drag from my cigarette.

"Well, because I know a very nice little Italian restaurant around the corner, and I..."

"Pascal, I'm totally broke. So..."

"Don't worry, Antje. It's my treat!"

"I'd love to have dinner with you, Pascal!" I beamed and exhaled a plume of smoke.

He took the hand I wasn't holding my cigarette with and we started walking down the street away from the Fahrschule Schwarzbach.

"You know it was your cigarette that caught my eye earlier today."

"My cigarette? What do you mean?"

"I'm extremely fascinated by beautiful women who smoke. I'm always on the lookout for them. I can watch them for hours."

"Really?"

I looked at Pascal, puzzled, while taking another hit from my cigarette.

"Yes. It's kind of a... passion. And when the cigarette had drawn my attention to you, I noticed your tattoos. I was right next to you before I realized it was you. I didn't know you were more or less inked from top to toe."

Pascal looked all the way down my legs.

"Well... How could you?" I said, exhaling smoke. "We've only met when the weather was cold and I was all covered in jeans and shirts and boots."

"Obviously. And do you know that your red toenails look very nice in those sandals?"

"I've heard that before, actually," I smiled.

He paused and there was a brief silence. I took a deep drag and exhaled smoke before I continued.

"So you like my tattooed legs?"

"Yes. They're nice."

"And my feet?"

"Yes. Very much."

"With the red nails?"

"Oh yes!"

"And, above all, you like to watch me smoke?"

"Yes. Above all. It was an understatement when I said that I was tolerant with smokers. I just love to watch a beautiful woman like yourself smoke."

"So, basically, you're just like Herr Schwarzbach?" I smiled.

"In a way. Except I'm not twice your age. But otherwise you're right. I really want to spend time with you."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," I said and gave him another deep kiss.

On our way to the restaurant I told Pascal in detail about my experience with Herr Schwarzbach, the offer of free lessons and our final celebration over too many glasses of Prosecco at the driving school.

"So this is the story of how I learned to drive a car, chain-smoke cigarettes and turn down my driving instructor," I finished my story.

Pascal looked into my eyes and asked:

"Will you give me one of those smoky kisses?"

"I suppose my kisses kind of taste smoky, don't they?"

I leant forward and tongue-kissed him.

"That was nice. But I mean with actual smoke that you blow into my mouth," Pascal explained. "Will you do that?"

"Are you sure you don't want to smoke one for yourself?"

"No. I don't want to smoke. I just want your smoke."

I smiled and took a deep inhale from my cigarette. Then I locked my lips around Pascal's and blew smoke into his mouth while we kissed.

"Ah," Pascal said as our lips parted and we both exhaled the smoke of my cigarette into each other's faces.

"I've heard that kissing a smoker tastes like licking an ashtray. Is it true?" I asked.

"Well. They haven't had one of your smoky kisses then," Pascal smiled.

Fifteen minutes later I was were sitting at a table with a red and white chequered tablecloth and a bottle of Salice Salentino, two glasses and an ashtray. The restaurant was situated at a small square. We got the last available outside table where I could smoke.

I took off my stilettos and lit another cigarette as Pascal went inside to pee, which gave me a couple of minutes to reflect on the fact that two men had, within the last half hour, declared that they wanted to fuck me basically because of my painted toenails, my attractive feet, my numerous tattoos and, first of all, my apparently very sexy way of smoking a cigarette.

Luckily, one of those two men happened to be one I had very much wanted to fuck for a long time.

But I wouldn't have got to where I was without the other, Herr Schwarzbach, who taught me to drive and, more importantly, pushed me into my new habit that had drastically increased my fuckability in Pascal's eyes.