tagGay MaleWhiff of Temptation

Whiff of Temptation


I gave up smoking ten years ago, for the second time, after keeping off it for 6[six] years from the previous time. And it was worse than hard that second time, and I know I couldn't do it again. Even now my brain still starts craving tobacco whenever I smell the sweet aroma of fresh tobacco, fresh cigarettes. Even the fresh smoke exhaled across a table, more than briefly. Ahhhhhhh yes, I only have to smell really good fresh tobacco, for my body to start whatever the smoking equivalent is of salivating. Slobbering in a lustful urge to . . . inhale.

Uhhum. So I try to avoid places people smoke, and smokers. I am also very sensitive to the smell and taste of stale smoke now, and I can't stick my tongue in the mouth of someone who smokes. And I don't want their stale tar coated one in mine either.

So my friends and lovers are now nonsmokers. Which is fine, as it also means that they are healthier, will live and love longer, have more disposable income, and well, lots of other good things that go with being a non-smoker.

So it was quite a shock and very worrying when I started to get a whiff of the smell of tobacco smoke when I visited them. All of a sudden the heady aroma of really good tobacco was everywhere, and it all started at a party Morris had one night-not a real party, but maybe ten people, some wine and a BBQ under the new pergola in his recently replanted garden.

I had to be at work at 6 a.m. the next morning, so I left the party early just as the evening started to warm up, saying, "bye" to Neil, Arnold, Morris and Colin, and Dave and the rest of them. Ah well, I've got to make a living. But as I was leaving, a wave of rich tobacco smoke wafted past me, and I was almost knocked over by it. I turned to see who it was, but all I saw was the unfamiliar back of a well-built guy with dark hair and a trail of smoke drifting up from in front of him as he walked out to the garden where the BBQ was. And I was stunned to see Morris, who was also a reformed smoker and was now obsessive about not getting the smell of smoke in his furnishings, rush forward and embrace the new arrival in a gush of half-heard words so that I missed his name.

It wasn't the smell of an ordinary cigarette I knew, but I didn't give it much thought at the time; I was just very surprised he was there and glad to be escaping the seductive aroma.

The next day was Saturday, and after work I stopped by to pick Neil up and take him to the gym. We always worked out together on Saturdays and Tuesdays, and I was surprised not to find him waiting at the door for me. But then again sometimes he worked on the weekends and sometimes I'd find him asleep on his sofa recovering from Friday night. Since the door was wide open, I wandered in and took a bottle of Staminade from his fridge. But there was a strange smell, and as I stood up and opened the bottle, I sniffed and suddenly I was hit by the smell of that tobacco again. The same one as at Morris's, rich and pungent, and in shock again, I wondered what it was doing there and where Neil was.

Muffled noises drew me further into the house, and I wandered on, the smell of tobacco growing stronger, leading me to Neil's open bedroom door. On the bed I saw, and heard, the reason Neil had forgotten about getting ready for the gym.

Neil was on his knees, and I could see his smooth thighs sitting wide outside another pair of solid muscular thighs coated in a light coat of dark, curly hair. Yes, behind him and pumping his ass was the body of the dark-haired, well-built guy I'd last seen at Morris's, whose hairless muscular butt was clenching and releasing as he pumped my moaning gym buddy's ass.

And the aroma of his cigar circled around me. Because I now knew that was what the smell was-a cigar. Yes, the stranger's thick cigar butt sat on a plate on the bedside chest as its owner fucked my reformed smoker, gym buddy, Neil.

Their moans and grunts had led me there, and Neil was moaning more loudly now and writhing under his attacker, as the guy did same gyrating and shallow stroking inside my mate's channel that had me wishing it was me he had there on the bed. I love a guy who can really work his cock around in my arse and reach every part of it, but that thinking was doing me no good. Because the aroma of the tobacco had me starting to salivate. I had to get out of there fast.

So, I escaped, half hard and filled with the desire for a good fuck. But also afraid-because even in the brief time I had been in Neil's house, I had been starting to yearn for the rich tobacco aroma and had been taking deep breaths to suck it into my lungs, ahhh, and slowly exhaling. I'd had to get out of there. Whatever the hunky dark-haired guy was smoking was like a drug to me.

Outside I took big gulps of fresh air and told myself it was much better, cleaner, sweeter, all that, so much more enjoyable than the smell of tobacco. And I also tried to convince myself that the cigar smoker's butt and thighs and back and other body parts were not doing anything for me. I could not get myself hooked on a smoker.

"And he's Neil's," I told myself firmly.

At the gym I worked out hard, breathed deeply, and complained to Garth how hard it could be to stay off them, even ten years after you had given up cigarettes. He agreed. He'd been there too. So by the time I headed home, I had got my lust for the cigar-smoking stranger and his aromatic cigars out of my system.

"So did you . . . um, come by yesterday? On your way to the gym?" Neil asked hesitatingly that evening when he called me.

"Yep," I said, "And, yep, I smelt it. The smoke. And I saw what was keeping you too busy to notice the time," I said bluntly. "He's a smoker? Geez, Neil."

"Yeah," he laughed, "Well. Don't sound so stuffy. Sorry, but you know it's been a while and I couldn't turn down a hunky guy who wants to fuck, and man, that was a great one."

"The guy smokes," I said, "All the time."

"Yeah, well, I can handle it."

"But, Neil," I said in exasperation, "I spent six months listening to you moaning how you were dying for a smoke while you wore patches and had injections and hypnosis."

I had been through more hell than Neil, I was sure. Being a successful "giver upper" I had babied several friends though the drama of giving up smoking.

"He imports them. Luca the Latin hunk. Genuine, hand rolled, Cuban cigars made on the sweaty thighs of testosterone-loaded young Cuban men. And . . . and," he stopped and giggled, then whispered, "And you have no idea, Steve, how many things he can do with a cigar."

Geezus, dream on, Neil, I thought, but he was saying it all with real lust in his voice, whether for the guy or his cigars I had no idea.

"And you know cigars are not as bad for you as cigarettes. Cigars have less nicotine and are organic," Neil added.

"Neil," I shouted down the phone, "Don't you dare."

On Sunday I was having lunch with Arnold and his sister at the Aqua café on the waterfront. Lots of fresh air and great views of the lake, and I had walked down sucking in the joys of summer and thinking about sex. Particularly about solid muscular thighs with a fine coat of black, curly hair and topped by a hair-free pumping butt and imagining a nice seven incher. Sigh. I tried to change the image. This was bad.

Arnold and Lydia were late, and I got a nasty shock when we finished our Thai beef salads. I hadn't smelt it on him as we were outdoors, but suddenly Arnold had to get up and cross the pavement, and I watched in shock as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one and dragged hard on it. I was stunned.

"But . . . he gave up, years ago," I said gaping at him.

"Don't talk about it," his sister Lydia snapped. "I have already yelled at him, but he's hooked already. It's that bloody Luca he's been dating. God, he's a hunk, but he's got a cigar in his hand the whole time and leaves one behind every time he visits," She said angrily. "But of course one cigar isn't enough, he was a two-pack-a-day man when he gave up, and he's already back on to a pack a day"

"Luca?" I asked. "But, um . . ." I wasn't quite sure how to tell Lydia that the dark hunk was also fucking Neil. "The guy seems to be a one-man conversion to smoking campaign," I said, frowning.

Arnold had had a lump removed from a lung and given up in a panic. Gone cold turkey. I had never expected him to take smoking up again. He came back to the table looking sheepish, and lunch was spoiled. Lydia and I both glared at him, and he reacted by telling us how good a fucker his new boyfriend was.

There wasn't much I could say to that. I knew he was good. I'd seen him in action. I just shook my head at the end of lunch and said, "If you want to die for a good fuck, Arnold, well, don't expect us to come running with the fruit and sympathy when you are in hospital with lung cancer." I was brutal, I know, but we all knew what his family history was-his father and two uncles dead of lung cancer, and what his specialist had said.

On Tuesday I went to pick up Neil, and I could smell it-smoke-but it wasn't the rich aroma that came from a hand-rolled Cuban cigar, spun off some nubile youths' sweaty thigh. More like the stale smell of Alpine menthol.

"What? No way. I haven't had a smoke, promise," he said, when I confronted him on it, but he didn't look me in the eye.

I dropped him off afterwards, and he didn't ask me in for a drink like usual. I knew why. He couldn't have a nicotine fix if I was there. I sighed and drove off. Damn, Luca, I thought. What was he, some one-man devil's helper? Or perhaps he had been let loose on the gay community by Phillip Morris now that AIDS was waning.

That night I dreamed of those bare-butt cheeks and imagined the cigar man pumping my ass amid a haze of smoke and woke up sweating. The guy, Luca, was spoiling my sex life.

Ok. I lusted for him, but the cigars-well, they terrified me, and I had no idea if I could resist him, and them. I certainly couldn't have him without succumbing to the other. Fortunately, he was Arnold's date. Well, supposedly.

On Friday night I went to meet Morris, his other half, Colin, and Neil for dinner in town at Goldbergs'. It was busy as usual, and I was pulling my chair out when I realised that "he" was the guy with his back to me sitting on the other side of Neil. I was looking at the back of him, and the faint smell of fine aromatic tobacco was in the air.

"Shit," I said out loud and moved around the table so that I was opposite him and took the empty chair next to Morris. But as I sat down, I could smell smoke again, stale ordinary cigarette smoke, and it was coming from Morris. I leant closer and sniffed. Yes, it was Morris. I felt the blood drain from my body. God, Morris, and Neil and Arnold, and who was next? Me?

No, not me too, I thought. At last I got to see Luca's face, and that was no help at all. What his rear view had promised, his front view delivered. Dark, smouldering eyes, masculine Latin features and good looks. He flashed a smile at me, all white teeth and big mouth. I hated him.

Shit, I thought silently. Shit.

"How's Arnold?" I demanded, suddenly seeing red and looking directly at Luca..

"Arnold? He is well, last time I saw him."

"He's smoking again," I shouted. I wanted my anger to overcome my desire. "He's had a lump removed from a lung. He has a family history of lung cancer, and he should never smoke again." I fixed the hunky Luca with a steely gaze, sending waves of hate at him. Well, attempting too.

"Oh," he said, suddenly looking sad. "No, I didn't know that. But he is an adult; he should know what he can do."

I laughed at that idea. "Ha. I laugh at that idea. What, some hunky Latin with a big cock fucks him to paradise and he's going to act like an adult?" I asked. "And you leave him cigars?"

"You and Arnold," Neil said quietly, looking at Luca, "You are dating Arnold too?"

"Yes, and why not. I am not monogamous, I am not married to anyone," Luca said waving a hand nonchalantly about.

"That pudgy pale guy?" Neil demanded, slightly less quietly, "You are dating him?" Neil looked stunned, and I could understand why. Neil was the product of good genes and ten years of hard training. He was a superb specimen, and he was fussy about the quality of who got to play with the goods. I'd never quite made the grade, though I had lusted after him badly to begin with.

But I wasn't going to let Neil distract me from venting my anger at Luca. "And how about you behave like an adult. Be an adult and stop encouraging everyone you fuck to smoke," I added, knowing I was ruining the party and feeling like some religious maniac on a soapbox, but also feeling I had a right to be angry.

People in the café were looking our way now. We had been talking rather loudly.

"Fucking and smoking are the great pleasures in my life," Luca replied, his eyes hooded and flashing at me. "I fuck many; young, old, handsome, strong, rich men. Many things about a man attract me. But what I like best is a man who has real passion. True passion is rare," he added seeming to stare at me.

"You fuck many? Old? Rich? Well, fuck you," shouted Neil angrily, standing up so his chair fell back with a loud crash. "Fuck you," he spat at Luca. "Are you coming?" he threw at me, and I knew I should leave. A good-looking guy with a cigar looked at me and I was a wreck, in lust and heat. But at least I wasn't smoking again and I left with Neil.

When we arrived at his place, Neil dragged me inside. "Here. Here," he said, rushing through the house and throwing an opened packet of cigarettes at me, then an unopened pack and matches and a lighter and a bag of butts and ash. "Get rid of them for me. Please."

I threw them in the rubbish bin in the park over the road and came back to find Neil was waiting for me, panting, with his eyes flashing. "No one has ever done anything for me like you have, Steve," he said. "I mean that. No one. And there is one thing that stops me wanting a cigarette, and I know you wanted it once. So I'm hoping you'll help me give it up again. Will you, Steve? Do you still want it? Say, yes," he begged, holding my hand and looking into my eyes.

I was a bit lost, actually. "Um, of course," I said, though I wasn't sure what he expected me to do.

But then he grabbed my arm and dragged me to his bedroom, and my heart skipped a dozen regular beats to jump about like a hooked fish as I realised he was going to give himself to me. My cock lurched and I was ripping his T off him before he had even unzipped his jeans. I was rock hard by the time my pants got kicked off and we fell onto the bed together.

"Oh god, you don't know. . . ," I babbled, grabbing his face and slapping my lips to his. His arms were running over me like hot liquid as our tongues fought for dominance, and our bodies rubbed against each other in a frenzy of heat trying to merge. Hands reaching for cocks and mouths straining now to reach chests and necks.

Somehow his mouth ended up wrapped around my rod, and I was spreading his cheeks and fingering his butt and sucking his balls.

He rubbed his dick between his belly and my chest in a slow, small fucking motion as I opened his ass with my fingers. Then I gave up his nuts and my tongue reached in to him. Wetting and digging into that tight, puckered opening I was going to plow soon, if he didn't make me come first.

In one natural smooth motion, he gave up my rod and rolled over, and I rolled between his spread thighs and was kneeling back with his butt on my thighs and holding the head of my cock to his hole. I played my cock head around his rim, stroking over it and back, watching it twitch; then I had a finger inside making him gape and pressed my rod in.

"Oh baby," I moaned, as he enclosed my dick inside him. "Oh yes."

The finger came out, and my hand went to stroking his tool as I worked into his ass between his moans and whimpers. I wasn't that long, but I was thick. And I let loose years of pent-up lust and desire in fucking him deep and hard as he begged and encouraged me to take him. He had somehow managed to roll a rubber on me in our frenzy, and my only regret in that first wild joining was that I filled the rubber instead of sending my seed shooting into every part of his being, taking possession of every cell of his body. I milked him as I pumped the last of my cum inside him, joining and merging me to him, watching his cream spout and fall on his chest and face and up the bed.

Then I collapsed over him, totally spent, and we rolled into each other and I cradled his butt in my lap and his back to my chest. I sighed in satisfaction, and realised I wouldn't have minded a cigarette, and shuddered. There must have been some faint smell in the air of his bedroom still that was activating my salivary glands. But the urge died fast as I started to engorge again and played with his filling cock. Yes, fucking was definitely a good distraction.

"So, how long do you think we need to do this to cure you?" I asked him, nuzzling his ear and reaching the point of my tongue inside it.

"Oh years and years, I reckon," He replied.

At work a week later I got a phone call. I picked the phone up smiling, thinking it would be Neil, for the third time, but it wasn't.

"Hi Steve, it's Luca," an incredibly sexy deep voice was saying, "I would really like to met up with you. To get to know you better, to become friends."

"What? Luca, you smoke," I replied, "And I have a guy in my life," I added, feeling warm at the thought of Neil waiting for me when I got home that night.

"I have given up the cigars. Just for you, Steve. There are so few men of passion and you have passion, Steve. I want to fuck you. Since the day at the café, I have thought of nothing else. That evening I gave them up. So, no cigars for a week. For you I have even done that. That is why I have called only now. So you would know that I am serious in my feelings."

"You have given up smoking?' I said, suddenly flushed with surprise that I had had that affect on a hunk like him. And the voice brought back memories of his face and body and those glutes flexing and relaxing and . . .

Neil, I knew. It wouldn't have taken the guy six months to give up smoking if he wasn't a man of fixed habits, and he was now including my favourite ice cream on his shopping list.

But Luca? I mean no one gives up smoking in a couple of hours. Or does he? "For me?" I asked, "You have really given up because of me?"

"Yes for you, Steve. So tonight we meet. Yes? I want your butt in my hands, to spread your cheeks, see your hole twitch for me, your cock grow and throb . . ."

It was tempting. Listening to Luca, I was tempted.

"Sorry," I said, "But I'm taken." And the truth was that once I had fucked, Neil I was hooked on him. I also have an addictive personality.

But I'll confess that I didn't hang up the phone on Luca. Because I knew that if he tried a bit harder-well, I might just manage to find a good excuse to get home late one evening.

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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous12/06/17

im the say with smokers too

I see you with one in the hand and its all over

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