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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: smokin.txt (MF, smoking, military)
Authors name: Jordan (JordanGS@vadoc.state.va.us)
Story title : Smokin' Hot Sex
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
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Smokin' Hot Sex {MF, smoking, military}
by Jordan (JordanGS@vadoc.state.va.us)
***
Dear Alexis,
Oh, no. You don't get to drop that one on me. You and
Shon thunk it up - you and Shon take care of it. I'm not
writing a story that associates sex with smoking.
Besides, it hits too close too home.
Did I tell you that PJ and I were both smokers? That she
smoked as a teen, but I didn't take it up until I was
twenty? That and coffee were two of the nasty habits I
picked up in the Navy.
What I probably didn't mention was that I *had* seen a
therapist about quitting. Well, PJ had seen therapists
on and off for years, for depression (this was long
before she was diagnosed as a multiple). I went with her
occasionally, when one therapist or another needed to
meet me or felt I needed to be a more active participant
in the therapy.
At one such session, habits were discussed. I won't list
*all* the annoying little things that married people
don't realize they do that annoy the hell out of their
partners. Some of them are too personal. Most of them
are trite, though.
You know the ones. The position of the toilet seat,
asking for directions, four hours to dress to go out to
a two hour party, nylons on the shower curtain rod, cap
off the toothpaste, socks on the floor instead of in the
hamper, not emptying an ashtray until it was ready to
overflow (or had)...
That last one led to smoking, and both of us expressed a
passive desire to quit. PJ did, on her own, for months
at a time, but I was a little more hardcore. That
particular therapist admitted that chemical dependence
was not her specialty, but she had heard from a
colleague that substitution therapy was common.
Some people chew gum whenever they get the urge to
smoke. Telly Savalas was well known for his Tootsie Pop
substitution. He did that television show with a sucker
in his mouth the whole time ("Who loves ya, baby?").
We discussed potential substitutes. I hate gum - I'll
smoke a cigarette just to get the taste out of my mouth.
Lollipops and suckers were out. It only takes me three
licks (crunch) to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. I
remembered that before I smoked, I used to chew up a box
or two of pencils a week. It helped explain why I so
quickly went from non-smoking to a pack-a-day.
Other substitutions were suggested, discussed, and
dismissed, for a variety of reasons. I think the
therapist was at wits end (the topic had strayed far a
field of PJ's problems) when she suggested sex. Not with
her - don't get the wrong idea - but as a substitute for
smoking. There was some embarrassed humor, the
inevitable "Do you smoke after sex?" question, and the
equally inevitable answer, "I don't know, I never
looked." Ha, ha.
But there were no admissible objections to this
substitute. Unlike food, this activity was non-fattening
(okay, one of us could end up getting temporarily fat
without proper precautions, but you know what I mean.).
It was something we could both enjoy, and help the other
with. And it beat the hell out of walking around with a
pacifier in my mouth.
What we agreed to, PJ and I, was that there would be no
smoking until after an orgasm. Ask a smoker which
cigarette is the hardest to give up, and if they're
honest, that's the one. I could give up lighting up with
my first cup of coffee. I could give up that butt that
went with a beer (by giving up beer). But that afterglow
with a little red glowing cherry in the dark?
Fuggedaboudit.
It never would have worked if I had been due to go to
sea anytime soon, but I was at the time stationed aboard
one of the "Forty-one For Freedom", a Fleet Ballistic
Missile submarine. They have two complete crews,
designated Blue and Gold, so that the ship can be on
station nearly all the time while a crew has a chance to
rest and recuperate for their next deterrent patrol. It
was my crew's turn to be home, and this therapy session
took place in the first two weeks of that 98-day "off-
crew" period.
Let me digress a little more. The off-crew period is
broken up into discrete periods. The first two weeks is
called "R&R". The Navy has a policy that no more than 96
hours of liberty can be granted at any one time (Liberty
is authorized absence, time off, that doesn't require
dipping into your vacation leave balance.) During the
R&R period, every member of the crew is required to
phone the office twice each week to "muster".
Technically, you were expected to be in the immediate
area during that phone call, but people have mustered
from the other coast.
The next two weeks is the "Admin" period. There isn't a
lot of difference, except that three musters were
required, and these were "sign in" musters for two, and
a formal mustering of the crew for the third, where the
crew was inspected, information was disseminated, and
then dismissed. (The crew, not the information.)
The remainder of the off-crew was the "Training" period.
Classrooms were provided, and members of the crew took
turns lecturing their departments or divisions about
ship's systems and procedures. Crewmembers were sent to
formal training at the Submarine School in Groton as
well. At the end of that period, we would muster one
last time with sea bags and tearful goodbyes, and fly to
wherever the ship was to relieve the other crew.
As you can see, the only reason we thought there was any
chance of success for this smoking abatement therapy was
because I would be home no later than five every night
for nearly three months, just like my civilian
counterparts, and often earlier. We went home from that
therapy session with the best of intentions.
We gathered all of our smoking paraphernalia and stored
it in the bottom drawer of the nightstand next to our
bed. I hadn't had a cigarette in the car during the
drive home, and watching all of the smoking materials
being placed out of reach, or at least out of bounds,
was instigating a nicotine fit. Besides, PJ just looked
so damned good bent over like that. I placed a hand on
either side of her hips and rubbed myself up and down
the middle.
The look she threw over her shoulder at me was almost
enough to let me light one up. She straightened and
turned in my arms and pulled my head down to hers, and
things got serious, fast. Well, we *were* still on our
"honeymoon". That happens every six months or so to most
missile boat sailors and their wives, while they get
reacquainted with each other after an extended absence.
The sheets got turned down quick, and then pulled up,
and twisted, and kicked out of the way. Fifteen minutes
later, we were both smoking in bed (not a recommended
practice, but there we were.) PJ lifted the sheet and
looked under, and said "Nope."
I was a little slow. I looked at her grinning face with
befuddlement until I remembered the reference. We
laughed together until the cigarettes were extinguished.
I helped her change the sheets and make the bed.
I lasted an hour until the cravings began to gnaw at me.
In my defense, I was a chain-smoker by then.
Unfortunately, I was not a satyr, or afflicted with
priapism. An hour should have been enough of a
refractory period, but PJ was doing some sort of wifely
chore and out of sight, and the stimulus was all wrong.
I had to tough it out.
Instead, I filled my lungs with secondhand barbeque
smoke in preparation for dinner. (Just kidding. nobody
intentionally inhales that smoke, no matter how serious
their cigarette habit.)
I grilled steaks and corn on the cob, while PJ made
macaroni salad and green beans in the kitchen. The grill
was my area, then, and the fixin's were hers. It was all
delicious.
Have I mentioned that next to the post-coital cigarette,
the smoke after eating is the most intense craving? Have
you ever observed that making love on a full stomach can
be uncomfortable? It looked as though we were going on
diets as well as a smoking cessation program.
PJ was as eager as I was for that after dinner
cigarette, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. We
experimented with different positions, trying to find
one that did not involve sloshing bellies bumping one
another. We settled for facing each other on our sides,
but it had never been a particular favorite and wasn't
the most stimulating for either of us. That said, we
managed to reach a mutually satisfying conclusion. It
was some time before either of us reached for the
ashtray and the packs and lighter. It almost felt like
cheating.
"Honeymoon" or not, neither of our sex-drives could keep
up with the demands of the nicotine in our systems. That
first cigarette in the morning after waking up became a
quickie. PJ begged off after lunch on the third day,
complaining of dryness.
I was smiling when I said it was okay, but I felt like I
was itching inside. We had never used lubricants before
for regular sex and it frankly didn't occur to us at the
time. I was becoming irritable as a result, and that is
*not* a major turn-on for women, including (especially)
PJ.
My beloved spouse did hit on a loophole in the plan (she
had a genius IQ). We had agreed, and the therapist
witnessed, that we would not smoke until after an
orgasm. No place in that agreement did we say that it
had to be our own orgasm, or that both of us had to have
an orgasm. She explained this loophole to me while I was
chewing my last fingernail, sitting on the couch, with
her kneeling in front of me.
Not long after, I was a good deal less irritable. So
much less that I fetched our stash from the bedroom and
cuddled with my spouse on the couch until nearly dinner
time. We decided to forgo a large meal and just snack on
leftovers for a while before bed. (I think we were both
a little too exhausted from the anti-smoking regimen to
enjoy the ante-smoking regimen.) At bedtime, we passed
up a last cigarette before sleep in favor of more
cuddling and quiet talk.
The first day of training was difficult. After the
after-breakfast quickie, I had to get dressed and report
to the off-crew office. There was a long-standing
tradition of Monday Lunch at the EM club for the
Engineering Department, and as the Leading Chief of
Machinery Division, I was expected to attend, a guest of
my troops.
Our Officers would attend as guests, too. I think I
worried as much about a Pavlovian response to eating at
this point as I did the nicotine fit that was sure to
drive that urge.
Smoking was allowed in the clubs in those days, and as
soon as the hot wings had disappeared, all but two of my
division lit up. Some smoked while they were eating,
even, but that has never been one of my faults, and it
didn't bother me. Another feature of this tradition,
however, was the hydraulic nature of desert. There was
no way I could eat lunch *and* drink beer without
smoking. I put up with a lot of teasing (Sailors don't
"tease" - they harass) about passing on the beer.
I finally went to the payphone at the entrance and
called home, hoping to sneak out for some afternoon
delight. PJ was in the middle of a meeting of the wives'
club and torpedoed that idea - she said she was having
problems of her own. But she suggested a solution for
me. Ten minutes later I washed my hands and left the
men's room, ordered a beer and bummed a smoke.
I got home at three. Training rarely lasted the whole
day, and especially not on Mondays. The Navy Wives had
long since departed, after planning various bake sales
and the theme for the Ship's Party. PJ was almost
desperate for a smoke, and I felt like I needed one as
well, but following her advice at the club left me under
prepared. Fortunately, I had paid attention when she had
observed the loophole in the smoking agreement.
Yes, smoking is an oral fixation. Why not, as PJ had,
substitute one oral activity for the other? Now I must
confess, that neither of us had been terribly oral in
that department at this point in our marriage. We had
both considered it foreplay, not the main event. I was
inexpert (so was she that other time, but amateur
enthusiasm in a loved one more than made up for that)
and unsure. Still, I did my best. It didn't seem to be
enough, until I convinced her to tell me when I did
something right, and not to be afraid to ask for
whatever made it better.
I can thank nicotine for making my wife more vocal in
bed. She was gradually less shy about telling me how to
please her, and much more aural. The drawback to this?
In pleasing her, I became aroused, and I felt guilty
because I felt I needed to "save myself" until the next
cigarette. Talk about two-edged swords.
Let me make a long story marginally shorter.
At the next session with the therapist, we announced
that we were giving up on this particular approach.
Neither one of us liked what it was doing to our sex
life, choking spontaneity by subliminating sex to
withdrawal pangs.
We did keep the positives, though, so it wasn't a total
loss.
Anyway, you can see, dear Alexis, that I have issues
about writing a sex story that involves making someone
addicted to the post-coital butt. You can write one, or
Shon can write one, but leave me out of it.
Yours for a song,
Gary
P.S. Got any chocolate left from your birthday?
END
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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