My Mother Taught Me How to Smoke

I remember watching my mother smoke cigarettes when I was a boy. I think that's how it started, my fetish. I've always found smoking attractive. I would sit in her room while she smoked, watching the smoke as it curled out of the lit end and through the filter. Sometimes it would spill out and linger, then rise to the ceiling where it would dissipate, sometimes it would be trapped by the ashtray and drift around the room, collecting on the curtains and the lampshade, only to be carried away when she opened a window.

I remember the sound, that gentle click as she took the cigarette from her mouth, the light crunch of the filter as she removed it, the pop of her lips as she took it out and flicked into the ashtray, the exhaled breath which clouded around her face. I remember how it felt to watch her smoke; it seemed so sensual, so sexy, so ... feminine.

As she grew older she started smoking more often. I don't know when I first became aware of the fact I was getting turned on by her smoking. Perhaps it was when I started masturbating to her smoking. I first saw her naked one night in her room, cigarette in hand while taking long drags as she played with her surprisingly shaved pussy. I watched her as she pinched her nipple and rolled it between her fingers. Her cigarette moved with her hand, her fingers seemed to glide around it, caressing it, but it never came close to touching her bare flesh.

It wasn't long before she would offer to let me come out to the porch when she was smoking. She would let me sit with her, letting me inhale her scent, watch her smoke, listen to her tell me all about the day's events.

She was a beautiful woman, chubby but with curves in all the right places. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and they sparkled when she was laughing. Her hair was blonde and she had a cute little nose. She looked like a character from a comic book, only she was real and she was my mother.

She loved dressing up, she had a collection of high quality clothes that she kept for special occasions only. Most days she would be dressed in a skirt, blouse and heels or stockings and suspenders. Sometimes she would wear a suit jacket, but other than that she kept things casual.

One evening as we sat drinking tea as she was having a smoke she said:

"Do you know that your father has been trying to get me to quit smoking?"

I was surprised. "Really?" I replied. "I've never known him to care before."

"Yes, he thinks I should stop, not just because of my health, but because I'm harming my body."

"And what do you think?" I asked.

"I think it's ridiculous. Smoking is a way of life for me now. If I stop I'll just have another bad habit to replace it."

"So you're going to keep smoking?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, taking a deep drag. "But he keeps telling me that it's bad for my health."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just want you to know that your father cares about me."

"Does he love you?" I asked.

"Of course he loves me," she replied. "But he's always wanted to change me into a different person."

"What does he want you to change?"

She looked at me as if I'd said something rude. "You're asking too many questions," she said. And with that, I dropped the topic.

One night when I was alone in my room playing on my computer I decided to find some porn on the internet. I wasn't looking for anything specific but as I clicked through the pages of ads I noticed there were a lot of ads for smoking fetish sites.

I started to wonder why I had never considered the fact that my mother was a smoking fetishist before. She had a nice, long cigarette every time we sat down to relax. And as I was watching the images flashing on the screen I thought back to that evening I snuck a preview of her masturbating while smoking. It made me horny just thinking about it.

That night when my parents went out for the evening I went online and searched for some smoking porn. It wasn't hard to find. There were thousands of pictures and videos of people smoking, mostly women, but there were plenty of guys too. I watched some videos as I stroked my cock until I came all over my computer keyboard. Then I searched for some videos of incest between mom and son.

One of them featured a beautiful woman sitting on her son's face while smoking a cigarette. She would occasionally take a drag and then hold it in while grinding on her sons face. He loved it, moaning in pleasure. After a while she lifted up his head and took a long drag which she exhaled slowly into his mouth, then she would turn around and suck his dick. He came all over her face and tits and she cleaned up his cum with her tongue as she finished off her cigarette

Another video featured a woman who looked like my mother giving her son a blowjob while he smoked. I had never considered smoking myself, but watching this... it made me crave it. I knew then that I would have to find a way to get my mother to teach me how to smoke a cigarette.

***

The following week I made plans to go stay at my friend's house for the weekend. He lived about twenty miles from where my parents lived, but he also had a pool so it would be a lot more fun than staying home.

When I arrived my friend's dad was there too, waiting to meet me. He was a big man, well built and muscular, with thick blond hair and a large bushy beard. When he smiled his eyes crinkled up and he had a wide dimpled smile. He shook my hand and said hello.

When I got inside I immediately saw an ashtray sitting on the kitchen table. My friends mother was sitting there reading a novel, while enjoying a Marlboro Red. She glanced up from her book and gave me a friendly wave and ashed her cigarette into the ashtray. I noticed that her knuckles were stained yellow from the nicotine and immediately knew she was an addict too.

My mother sat down at the table pulling out her own cigarettes, and taking one out of the pack to light it. She took a long deep drag as she leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs. She held her cigarette up to her lips as she blew out smoke in front of her face. The air around her smelled of smoke and the sweet tang of tobacco. She inhaled deeply then closed her eyes and let out a long sigh of pleasure.

I was mesmerized by the sight of my mother smoking. She had on a green crop top that hugged her curves, and black jeans that rode low on her hips and flared out at the bottom. She wore a pair of red high-heeled ankle boots. She looked incredibly sexy sitting there smoking, but she also looked tired and stressed out, which was unusual for my mother.

My friend and I went into the living room to play on his new game console but I listened in on the kitchen. My mom was discussing marital problems with my father.

"It's just that I need a little excitement in my life," she said. "You know I can't live like this forever."

She lit up cigarette after cigarette complaining about my father to my friend's mom.

"He's always working so much and I don't even know what he's doing half the time. I don't have any friends or hobbies anymore, he barely lets me see my friends anymore."

My friend's mom nodded in agreement.

"I know," my mother sighed. "He's always telling me that he doesn't trust me and he doesn't know why I married him in the first place."

My friend's mom said that she understood and then she told my mother that she was lucky to have her.

"I know," my mother sighed. "I'm lucky to have you."

I hated hearing that my mother was so lonely, and with the fact that my father was away on business, I decided to go back home with my mom instead of staying with my friend. It felt like the right thing to do.

On the way home my mom started smoking again, taking long drags on her cigarette while we drove. As she sat in the passenger seat I couldn't help but notice how her thighs rubbed together as she smoked, how her breasts moved with the motion of her arm as she held the cigarette between her fingers, and how the smoke drifted through the car.

She seemed to be in a good mood when we got back home and she even made dinner for us. We ate our meal together while watching TV and afterwards she pulled out her cigarettes and lit one up. Watching her put it to her lips and using her lighter to ignite the end I tried to work up the courage to ask her to teach me how to smoke.

"Can you teach me how to smoke?" I blurted out.

She turned towards me with a surprised look on her face. "Sure, you are old enough now to make your own decisions" she said. "Why don't you come to bed with me?"

I followed her up the stairs to the bedroom and as I entered she lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

"Sit down on the bed," she said.

I sat down on the edge of the bed as she took another drag.

"Take a drag," she said.

I did as she asked, inhaling the smoke into my lungs. I had never smoked before, but I liked the feeling of it in my lungs.

"It's not bad, is it?" she said.

"It's ok," I said.

She took another drag and blew the smoke out. Then she leaned over to me and put her cigarette to my lips. "Try it," she said.

I didn't hesitate to take a drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I let the smoke drift through my nostrils as my mother exhaled into my face. I felt her hot breath on my cheeks as she blew out another stream of smoke. It felt good, and I liked the taste too.

"That's good," she said. "Now you try it."

I leaned over and took a drag. It tasted better than I thought it would, and I liked the way the smoke made me feel. I took a deep drag and let it flow into my lungs.

"Now you're getting it," my mother said. She put her cigarette to my lips and I sucked in the smoke. It was just like sucking on a straw, except with the added bonus of nicotine.

"Good," my mother said. "You're learning fast."

I took a few more drags on my cigarette before I finally had to stop.

"Why do you keep smoking when it makes you sick?" I asked.

"It's not just that it makes me sick, it's that it tastes good. And I like the way it makes me feel."

"It feels good?"

"Yeah, it's like a drug, you know?"

"A drug?" I asked.

"Yes, a drug. When I'm smoking I get a rush of energy, a sense of power. It's like I'm a powerful woman. I feel strong when I'm smoking."

I took a drag of my cigarette. I could see the pleasure in her eyes.

"And what do you like about it?"

"Well, the taste, of course. And the smell. But mostly, I like the instant stress relief I feel as soon as I light up. I love it when I take a drag and then I can just relax and forget about everything. Smoking is a stress reliever for me, you know?"

I knew then that I had to learn to enjoy smoking too, to understand how it made her feel. I asked if she would give me cigarettes from time to time. She agreed and I went downstairs and took a couple for personal use.

Over the next couple of days I took her cigarettes and smoked with her. She taught me how to inhale the smoke and exhale the smoke properly. She showed me how to hold the cigarette in the proper position while smoking. She taught me how to blow the smoke out into the air and how to keep it burning without it going out.

By the end of the week, I was a professional smoker. I was still at the stage where I could get a slight buzz from a cigarette but it was quickly becoming an addiction. I smoked every day, sometimes two a day. I smoked while I was alone in my room, I smoked in the bathroom when I was taking a shit. I even smoked in the shower.

I had no idea that smoking could be so satisfying, and it was so easy to get addicted to it. I started to crave cigarettes. I wanted to smoke all the time. I would wake up and immediately reach for a cigarette. When I was playing video games I would sneak a cigarette in between rounds. If I was watching TV I would take a drag during commercials. I would go outside and smoke whenever I got the chance.

I started to worry that my father would catch me when he got home from his business trip. That I would be caught red handed, cigarette in hand, puffing away. I knew that he would kill me. He would beat me until I stopped breathing and then he would throw me in the dumpster. There was nothing I could do, because I loved to smoke.

It turns out, I wouldn't have to worry about that at all. On the way home from Los Angeles, my fathers plane had a malfunction. The pilots were forced to attempt to make an emergency landing. The plane crashed and the entire crew was killed. My father did not survive.

***

Years had passed. It still hurt to think about my fathers death, but I had graduated college and had nowhere else to go. As I pulled up to my childhood home and used my key to get inside, my mother was in an uproar. Shit was flying everywhere as she wailed and screamed and cursed my father.

As it turns out he had been cheating on her for years before his death. My mother spent years feeling guilty for a bastard that never really cared about her. She stopped destroying photos and looked at me as I walked into the door. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and explained everything.

"He cheated on me for years," she sobbed. "I never realized it."

She grabbed my hand and looked at me. "Never be like him!" she shouted.

"I won't," I said.

She wrapped her arms around me and held me close, and she cried.

When the tears died down, I pulled out my cigarettes and offered one to her. She shook her head and wiped her eyes.

"No thanks," she said. "I quit."

"Oh," I said.

She smiled weakly. "I can't stand them anymore. I don't care if you have one though."

I shrugged and placed one in my mouth, lighting it up. I could tell her cravings kicked in the moment the smoke started circling through the air.

She watched me as I inhaled, holding my breath, closing my eyes, trying to savor the smoke. Her expression was filled with wonderment, awe, lust, jealousy...all of those things rolled into one. We continued the conversation and as she calmed down I saw her eying my pack of menthols.

"Fuck it." She finally said, and reached for one and lit it up, breathing in the smoke deeply and feeling the nicotine high that she hasn't felt in years.

She sat there with her cigarette in her mouth, staring off into space as she smoked. I stared at her as she smoked, and I couldn't help but admire her beauty. I loved how she looked, how she smelled, how she sounded. Everything about her turned me on. I thought I would grow out of being attracted to my mother, that I would rid myself of this Freudian complex that I struggled with before I went to college. I don't know if it was the smoking that attracted me to my mother or my mother that made me attracted to smoking. What came first the chicken or the egg?

She put out her cigarette and lit another one. She sat back in the couch and crossed her legs, her left foot resting on top of her right knee. She took a drag and blew the smoke out of her nose. She was so beautiful, and I was sure that she knew that.

"You know," she said. "You look a lot like him."

"I don't look anything like him," I replied.

"Yes you do. You have his eyes, you have the same smile, the way you walk. Your face is so similar. I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that."

She took another hit off of her cigarette. I could feel the heat coming from her body as I sat next to her. I felt the need to take a drag of my cigarette. I took a drag and let the smoke drift through my nostrils as I exhaled.

I changed the topic by asking her if she remembers teaching me how to smoke. I asked her how old she was when she learned how to smoke, and she told me about when she was 16. She said that she had always liked how it felt, how it tasted.

"Do you miss it?" I asked.

"Sometimes," she said. "But I don't want to start again."

"Why?"

"I don't like how it makes me feel. I hate that it's so addicting. I'm glad I quit."

I nodded. I knew exactly how she felt.

She took another drag and I took a drag and exhaled. I looked at her cigarette smoke drifting past her eyes. It reminded me of the way smoke would drift out of her nostrils when I was young.

"I've always loved watching you smoke" I nervously told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "What are you talking about?"

"I've always loved the way it looks."

She looked at me with a surprised look on her face. "You mean like a sexual thing?"

"I guess. I'm not really sure."

I felt the urge to take another puff of my cigarette. I took a drag and exhaled, blushing as I tried to express how attracted I was to my own mother. She stared at me, taking in my expression, looking deep into my soul.

She stood up and walked over to the couch where she put out her cigarette in an ashtray. She sat back down beside me and held her hand on top of mine. The contact made me feel so good. I thought about how much I wanted her touch. Her warmth seeped through her fingers and gave me goosebumps. I squeezed her hands tight and looked up at her beautiful green eyes.

"We can't do this... we can't have this conversation." She said as she blushed and looked away. She turned her head back and smiled softly at me.

I grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to me. She kissed my cheek. My heart raced as our lips pressed together. We stayed like that for a moment, kissing, touching each other. Then she broke the kiss, pulling away from me. She started to say something else but I interrupted her.

"I know," I whispered into her ear. I reached out and touched her leg again. I couldn't help myself. I needed more of her touch, I needed her affection. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I didn't want to stop. As soon as I felt her skin on mine I lost control of my senses. I was overwhelmed by lust.

She was so close now, so intimate. I could feel her breath on my neck as my arms wrapped around her body. I held onto her tighter than ever before. It seemed so right. I had never been in a relationship with a woman and yet it felt natural. I don't know if it was because she was my mother or if it was just the situation and the environment, but it felt so right.

She let out a moan and her tongue slithered across my cheek, slowly making its way towards my mouth. Her hands moved up along my shoulders, caressing me as they went. She massaged me through my shirt while still holding me tightly against her chest. She pushed me down into the couch and placed herself over me. Her weight rested upon me as her soft lips met mine once again. She kissed me deeply and passionately, moving her body over mine.

My hand brushed up her thigh, feeling her smooth skin underneath her skirt. "Just for tonight, we are different people, with different names, in different places." I whispered into her ear softly.

I could still see the guilt on her face as I looked into her eyes. She looked at me and then nodded and went and poured herself a glass of wine, and came back to me. She asked me for a cigarette from my pack of menthols and lit one of them as well, blowing smoke into the air and taking deep drags off of it. She started tugging at my pants as she got on her knees, taking deep inhales of smoke as she did so. I didn't fight it; she pulled down my underwear and slid the boxers down along with it. My cock sprung free. I was rock hard and ready for her attention.

She took another drag from her cigarette before kissing my cock all over before placing it between her soft warm lips. I moaned loudly as she sucked me into her mouth. I grabbed onto her hair and held onto her head tight as she worked me harder than ever before.

Her lips were so soft and warm as she engulfed me completely inside of her mouth, sucking me in deeper and faster than ever before. Her saliva dripped down her chin as she made love to me. She rubbed her tongue around the head of my penis and tickled me around the tip, making my balls twitch. She stroked my shaft slowly as her tongue explored my sac, only stopping to take puffs of her cigarette. She blew out a puff of smoke into my nostrils as her hot breath danced against my skin.