[ Post a Response | The Sublime Desire of Cigarette Smoking ]
Posted by jax
on January 8, 2011, 5:15 am
I don't how to describe this.
I enjoy being addicted.
All of it. The need. The want. The desire. The pull. The failure of quitting. The blessed relief of the justification of starting...again. Any excuse will do.
The usual explanation is that I saw a woman smoke. A good one. One who knew what she was doing. A bleak beautiful stare as she ejects a plume six feet long into the twilight. Eye contact as she inhales. I use any vignette to start the tango again. Kill me/Pleasure/kill me/Pleasure.
I know who a woman whose peculiar interest it is to start other women smoking. She's like a Johnny Addictionseed. She sees a vulnerable woman, befriends, and encourages. She uses very subtle tactics: it's ok, one won't hurt, it's only occasional, and then she makes them come out with her to smoke. After a few weeks, she reports that she has another satisfied (temporarily) customer.
He brand of choice is Benson and Hedges. Rich, white, strong. Get them on those first. Then they have what she calls the "unerring need." She loves to make them need it. Not want: need.
They get hooked on the aesthetics, then she makes she that they get lots of encouragement.
She says she enjoys the control.
She taught her own daughter to smoke. She was 21. She had been experimenting, but she was a rather clumsy little lass and didn't have the composure her mother had. You know, the odd clove in a bar. She said, well, if you're going to do this, at least make yourself look like you know what you're doing. It's a control thing. It's a woman thing.
Where have I heard that before? She actually uses this language.
Her daughter now happily smokes with her. They have bonded over smoke and laughter and gossip.
She has told me she doesn't want her to quit. She's very educated. She asserts that smoking is the most evolved thing humans can do with each other.
When she smokes with me, she tell me that she's never going to let me quit, and that she will do everything in her power to keep her own power.
Everything.
One day, she came over to my door, lit up, opened her mouth, and grabbed me. She pushed he lips onto mine and blew the smoke into my lungs. I had not smoked in weeks.
She walked away and said, "People smoke for pleasure. You like pleasure, right? Don't ever let me catch you quitting again."
And I haven't.
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