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 Jayne was a little tart when I met her.  We were young; I was 16, she was a
year younger.  Eager to be a woman, she'd meet me wearing bright red
lipstick, sometimes smoking a cigarette.  Sometimes she'd place her hand on
her hip so I could feel the clips of her suspenders.  She liked me to know
she was wearing them.

   She also liked me to know she'd been fucked.  Not once, but by several
local lads.  I was a virgin and slightly reserved, so I found her candour
slightly embarassing and very exciting.  She dropped her knickers for me on
the first available opportunity, and we began a steady relationship that
lasted four years.  Her rebellious behaviour quickly receded into the past
under my steadying influence, and we were soon planning for a future
together with a nice little house and all the extras.

   This episode occurred when on holiday in Spain; relative to me, she was
experienced in foreign travel, as she had been sexually when we met.  I had
never been abroad, and when I turned 18 and we had enough money, we booked
a sun & sea package deal.  Jayne was gorgeous; she was a 5' 4" brunette
with a wide, sulky mouth and perfect teeth; big brown eyes; small, pert
breasts and a well-upholstered rump.  She looked great in a swimsuit or
bikini and soon had a lovely golden-brown tan.  She would wear a tight
cotton dress over her bikini as we walked to the beach and back.

   After lunch, we'd return to the hotel for a siesta.  We delighted in
each others bodies and had sex every day, sometimes more than once.  This
being the '80s, my shorts were very short and she loved to tease me in
public to the point were I had an obvious hard on.  She delighted in
coquettish behaviour, flirting with the bartenders and blowing me kisses.
Back in the room she'd strip off and present her gorgeous, naked
17-year-old buttocks to me and we'd go at it with the enthusiasm of our
youth.

   On one particular day, she was playing games with me, putting on a
French accent, pouting and strutting around the room.  She couldn't speak
French, and she didn't know many words, but she was quite convincing in her
portrayal of a stereotypical young French slut.  We incorporated it in some
extended foreplay, fully dressed, her hand occasionally lightly stroking my
erection through my shorts.

   All the time, as she did her act, although we knew we would soon fuck, I
had a nagging feeling there was something missing.  The thought would
appear fleetingly and disappear quickly.  We'd been drinking at lunchtime,
and I felt I could maybe shed some of my usual sexual reticence.

   I cuddled and kissed her, grinning, as she squealed and pretended to be
shocked.  "Jayne," I teased her, "remember when we first used to meet?  On
the corner?  You used to smoke!"

   She giggled.  "Ah, oui!  All ze French girls smoke..."

   She mimed.  A hand on her hip, the tips of two fingers to her lips,
dragging and slowly exhaling towards me.  I felt a surge of precum.

   "Mmmm...." I smiled, squirming.

   She momentarily dropped the charade.  "Want me to go get some fags? 
Give me some money..."

   She took out a note and put on her beach shoes, and was out of the room
in seconds.  My heart was pounding.  I watched her from the balcony as she
crossed the courtyard towards the bar.  Oh fuck, now she was really messing
with her mind.  I had an aversion to smoking, hated it.  She gave up when I
asked her and I thought we'd seen the back of that habit for good.  In
truth, she was never addicted; she admitted she did it because her friends
did it, and to get noticed (as many teenage girls did and still do).  So
why was I so fucking aroused, I asked myself, squirming?

   I looked down to see her returning from the bar, smiling and waving a
pack of 20 Marlboro at me.  She walked quite slowly, so there was time for
me to see her remove the wrapper, take one out and place it between her
lips before she disappeared from view.  She never took her eyes from mine
the whole time.  Less than a minute later, she opened the door, the
cigarette dangling from her mouth.

   "'Ave you got a light?"

   "No!"

   She laughed and turned on her heel, tutting, closing the door behind
her. I watched her from the window again, this time with an exagerated
bounce in her step and her cigarette hanging from her lips the whole time.
Receding behind the curtain, and with a slight feeling of guilt, I took out
my erect cock and began to stroke, surprised by the fact the head was
soaked and slimy with precum.  Some unconscious process was at work in my
brain, I realised later, that was telling my body that I wanted to fuck a
woman who smokes.

   She emerged from the bar again, smoking this time!  The visible part of
her walk through the courtyard was long enough for a couple of short drags;
before she disappeared this time, she exhaled up towards me.

   She entered the room, triumphantly holding up a plastic lighter.  I
couldn't take my eyes off the cigarette, poised delicately between her
finger ends, as she sidled towards me.

   "So, you like ze girls who smoke," she smiled.

   She extended her arm, either side of my head, resting on my shoulders.
She was getting close enough for me to smell her breath, which I assumed
would break the spell and diffuse the situation.

   "No," I replied, squirming.  "It's filthy..."

   "Ah, so you like ze filthy French girl, yes?" She leaned forward before
I could react, crossing her arms behind my head and kissing me fully with
her mouth open.  At the taste of her smoky breath, my heart began to pound
so much that I couldn't talk or object.  I had to feign nonchalance as I
didn't want her to know I was barely in control.

   "I hope you're not going to make a habit of this..."

   Be broke off.  "Oh, cheri," she pouted, "You don't mind me smoking one
little cigarette?"

   "As long as it's only one..."

   She grinned, did a little dance in front of me, and took a short drag,
puffing a small cloud of smoke at the ceiling.  I wafted my arms around
demonstratively, and she laughed with a throaty giggle.

   The room was small, and she could sit on the bed and do her makeup in
the mirror.  I reclined, watching her, and she sat down and began applying
her red lipstick slowly and deliberately.  She new this would drive me wild
as I always gushed about her wide full lips and her delicious pout,
although my vocabulary wasn't so imaginative at the time.  Lipstick applied
nice and thickly, she put the fag back in her mouth and started to play to
the mirror, holding her hair up at the neck, pouting her lips outrageously,
narrowing her eyes with a slutty sneer, cigarette between her fron teeth.

   She dropped the accent again.  "I look quite good smoking, don't I?"

   "I suppose you've got the lips for it," I grudgingly agreed.

   I squirmed again as she came close to me, reclining also.  Just inches
away and parallel to me, propped up on her right elbow with her cigarette
between her right fingertips, she took the first proper drag I'd seen her
take.  After a slight pause, she disappeared momentarily.  I did a
double-take and realised she had exhaled directly into my face.

   "Bitch!"

   She giggled and held a hand to her mouth.  "Oh, pardon, cheri!"

   "Don't do that again!"

   She leaned across me and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and I
felt relieved but strangely disappointed.  As she leaned over, she made eye
contact with a knowing smile.  I jumped slightly as I felt her hand on my
erection.  She kissed me again; this time I felt more receptive to her and
we shared an extended French kiss.  I suddenly realised I was making love
to a woman, and that I actually liked the taste of cigarette smoke on her
breath, and its implications of sophistication and sexual experience.

   She kneeled up and her hands moved down my body, and she pulled down my
shorts and removed them.  I was now naked.  Faced with my engorged and
dripping wet erection, she gave me the same smug and knowing smile.  She
slowly placed her fingertips on my shaft, pulling back gently to release my
glistening glans from its foreskin sheath.

   "So you don't like me smoking?  Yeah, right."

   She started to wank me, slowly.

   "I don't want you to do it.  It's bad for you."

   She reached across me again, and with a challenging look, picked up the
packet and the lighter and lit another cigarette!  She continued to wank me
and delicious waves of lust and pleasure radiated from my loins throughout
my body.  She wasn't wearing a bikini top today, and her pert young nipples
thrust through her turquoise beach dress.

   I mentally pleaded with her to take me in her mouth, and she responded;
initially on her knees as she expertly sucked me, she flashed me a smile
then assumed a position more suitable for a French tart- Standing up with
her legs straight and bending at the waist with the hand holding the
cigarette extended behind her.  She spread her feet apart and wiggled her
bum; an unmistakable signal for me to touch her.  I reached up her dress
and found her tiny bikini bottoms sodden.  I pulled the gusset aside and
slid two fingers in, feeling the vibration in her throat transmitted to my
cock as she moaned in pleasure.

   She took another deep drag, fixing me with an unsmiling gaze, and
exhaled slowly onto the head of my cock.

   I could feel my orgasm approaching, fast.  "Kiss me," I groaned.

   She reclined beside me again, leaving her cigarette poised on the lip of
the ashtray, and we kissed as she slowly wanked me off.  I writhed in
pleasure, snatching a glance at the ashtray.  The sight of the burning
cigarette, the long narrow column of smoke rising from its burning tip and
the filter stained with Jayne's lipstick, proved to be the final catylist
for an amazing, spurting orgasm.

   As my vision and heart rate gradually returned to normal, she pulled her
dress off over head and removed her tiny bikini panties.  She propped
herself up on her pillows and spread her knees apart.  "Oh, Cheri, use zat
magic tongue on me, sil vous plait..."

   As I pleasured her with my tongue and fingers, she reached across for
her cigarette and took a slow, luxurious drag, letting the smoke drift from
her parted lips.  I was amazed how expert she looked considering she had
only smoked for a short while and not for a year or so.  She quickly came
to an intense and shuddering orgasm of her own, and lay there languidly as
she finished the cigarette.

   Jayne smoked the remainder of the pack of cigarettes over the next week;
her mission seemed to be to get me hard in public which we even had an
argument over, when it became really obvious how easily she could
manipulate me.  I was young and didn't appreciate her mind games as much as
I would nowadays!  She'd be face down on a sunlounger or beach towel,
reading a book in her sunglasses and bikini while I tried to relax next to
her, and she'd light up, exhaling in my direction after every drag.  I
suppose I was angry that my body was betraying me, despite my protestations
that I didn't want her to smoke.

   On returning to England, she didn't buy any more cigarettes, but for a
time she did occasionally smoke if she was offered one.  As our
relationship became increasingly domesticated, she didn't do it any more,
which should have been a relief for me, but I had my first affair shortly
afterwards, with a young, fat girl who smoked.  By the time I ended the
relationship, I had become a serial offender, and every one of the girls
smoked.  And still I tried to convince myself I didn't like girls who
smoked...