Chapter 1

I’m Dr. Craig Townsend. Well, soon to be ‘Doctor Townsend’. I woke with a smile on my birthday, knowing I was extremely lucky. There were ups and downs in life, like everyone experienced, but generally my family and I were quite happy.

The biggest ‘down’ we went through was the loss of my wife’s mother, may she rest in peace. My wedding had been in her hospital room. Right after the official kiss, my new wife and I signed papers to adopt her younger sister, so their mother would know her girls would be okay after she was gone. The cancer took her only a week later. We still miss her and remember her fondly.

That had been a difficult month, but things had been going great since then. I’d been an ABD, or ‘All But Dissertation’ PhD candidate for a long time. I’d finally submitted and defended my dissertation, and the envelope on my dresser held an invitation to the ceremony where I’d finally become a Doctor of Psychology in a week.

The exquisite blonde 20-year-old drooling on my arm in her sleep was my wife Carrie. One of my testicles was being squeezed uncomfortably by her thighs, but I didn’t want to move much and wake her. I’m still astounded she’s with me, considering our age discrepancy. I’d taken my last college exam before she was born. We married a week after she turned 18, only partly so we could adopt her 16-year-old sister Sherry. At the time I was totally smitten and Carrie at least had a crush on me.

I gently felt her small baby belly with my free hand and marveled in joyous wonder. Our love had created a new life, and our son was due on Valentine’s Day. We had plenty of space, with our old but recently remodeled five-bedroom house. Shortly before she conceived, Carrie had joked about it taking ten kids to fill the place up. I had squeezed her butt and said, “That could take a while. We better get started!”

I lightly stroked her long blonde hair and her eyes opened slightly. She reached to the bedside table for her vape, releasing my squashed nut as she rolled away from me a moment. I watched her lips and cheeks move as she puffed. As she exhaled I smelled the aroma of her strawberry-flavored cloud, then watched her lips move and her cheeks hollow as she sucked on it again. I kissed her ear and said, “You’re so very beautiful. I love you.”

She blew out another large plume of white vapor, sleepily saying, “Love you too.” I recalled some of the great blowjobs she’d given me as she inhaled again. She put the vape down after only three puffs and defensively said, “This is 6 milligram, they weakest vape juice they had. I’ve been cutting way down.”

“I know you’ll do what’s best. I didn’t say anything.”

I understood that pregnancy hormones were likely part of it, when she jealously replied, “I bet you said plenty when you hired that new housekeeper, Nina, Tina, or whatever her name is. I saw you and Sherry staring at her chest when she took off her coat yesterday. I bet you just hired her because you want to screw her.”

Sherry had stared quite a while, but I only glanced a couple of times. “Her name is Netanya. You know I’d never cheat on you. I love you far too much.”

“Well, I...”

She was interrupted by a loud screech from the bedroom next door, as her younger sister screamed, “REEEEEEEEE!”

I jumped up and ran there naked. When I flung the door open, I saw Sherry laying on her back with a pained look on her face. Her arms were outstretched to each side, and she was squirming violently. From the shape of the comforter, I could tell somebody else was under it. Sherry thrashed around a moment, then started panting for air as Carrie arrived a few seconds behind me.

Netanya pulled the comforter off and sat up. Some of her red hair stuck to her face, which glistened with vaginal fluid. The nude and very attractive Latvian immigrant asked with a strong accent, “Why you stare? He say job like extra wife.” She turned to Sherry and asked, “Wife job good, yes?”

Sherry was able to speak a little between rapid gasps for air. “So good! So FUCKING good!”

Netanya smiled as she put a hand on my naked wife’s hip and asked, “Want wife job also?”

Carrie blushed as she looked in her eyes. Her face slowly changed to a bright red smile. She urgently said, “Talk later! PEE! I gotta pee!” She practically flew to the bathroom.

The three of us who remained giggled and smiled. Sherry took a deep drag on her vape before saying, “I was right.” She expelled a dense cloud of lemony fog. “She would never admit it before, but she likes girls too.” She passed Netanya the vape and kissed her cheek. “I love chesty redheads.” She squeezed one of Netanya’s large breasts, then stared at my bare crotch a moment. As I covered myself with a pillow, she said, “I like guys too, and I’m 18 now.” She winked and licked her lips flirtatiously.

I anxiously strode out saying, “Talk later, I need to pee too.”

Despite my current situation, I was a virgin until I turned 22. Until then, I was content watching movies and masturbating. Not even masturbating to porn but with old Hollywood movies from the 60’s and 70’s, when a lot of women still smoked in films. The motions of a woman’s mouth as she sucks is absurdly attractive to me. Seeing the white smoke or vapor leave her mouth reminds me of semen travelling in the opposite direction, too. A pretty girl drinking something with a straw excites me nearly as much as seeing her topless. To me watching one smoke or vape is even hotter. I’d rather watch a woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt puff on a cigarette than see her in just a bikini.

My first sexual experience with another person was when a female friend let me have sex with her during my senior year of college. She was average-looking with short brown hair, but as you would assume, the first time I ejaculated into a vagina felt better than anything I’d done before. Afterward, I kept wondering how much better it would have been if she had smoked while we did it. Instead of asking her to stay the night, I gave her a ride home. I didn’t call her and didn’t answer when she called me. I ignored her, since I craved having a girlfriend who smoked. When I saw another guy’s engagement ring on her finger a few months later, I realized I would have married her if she were a smoker.

At last, I finally understood there was something seriously wrong with me.

I’d grown up in a small and well-off family, but my life wasn’t constant happiness. I got a terrible phone call when I was about to start Medical School. (I can see the extreme irony now. I wanted to be a doctor but loved watching women smoke.) I picked up the phone and cried from overwhelming grief as an uncle told me my parents and only sister had died in a traffic accident.

I inherited several million and my parents’ house, but that did nothing to bring them back or relieve my pain. The kind help I’d gotten from a therapist inspired me to switch from medicine to psychology. I had a strong desire to help others but wanted to understand and fix myself first. Thankfully, I didn’t need to worry about loans or grants to fund my education and research.

Years later, when the last of my classes were underway, I typed up the title as I started my dissertation. I saved it and made a backup to be sure. “Capnolagnia or Smoking Fetish: Men obsessed with female smokers.” I was very dedicated to my work, spending at least 8 hours a day on it, and more commonly 11 or 12 hours. I figured that I should get to know some females who smoked, before I started investigating other men and their reactions.

Before I knew it, I had spent a month recording video of women smoking, and barely asked them any questions. When I was alone, I watched the recordings again and again. They were part of my research, and shamefully, fuel for self-gratification. I knew I had to focus and get the information I needed. I wrote myself a list of questions to ask and returned to my ‘work’.

Most of the early interviews were similar. As an example, one morning I saw an attractive brunette sitting at a table outside a café. She was drinking coffee and puffing on a cigarette. I asked, “I’m doing research about smoking. Do you mind if I record you and ask some questions?”

“Okay.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

I zoomed the camera in on her mouth and watched her take a puff. “When did you start smoking?”

“I was sixteen.”

I zoomed out to get a good shot that included her legs as she exhaled. “And uh...” I struggled to remember my list of questions. “And did you like smoking the first time?”

“No, it tasted bad.” The motion as she tapped the ash off the end reminded me of a hand job, with feminine fingers shaking my shaft.

I zoomed in as she took another drag and felt a movement in my boxers. “Do your parents smoke?”

She exhaled a cloud as she said, “Dad does, and my Mom used to.” My parents never smoked. I had only tried it a few times but had a passion for watching.

She uncrossed her legs then crossed them again, giving me a glance at her thighs as she held her lips close together and exhaled a thin white stream. She put the cigarette out in an ashtray and lit another, exciting me further as her mouth and cheeks moved, reminding me of oral sex.

I moved to my left, trying to get a better angle on her moderate bosoms as she inhaled again. “Do your siblings smoke?”

She nodded and took another puff. “I have two sisters and they do.”

The thought of seeing three sisters smoking excited me greatly. I had a full erection demanding relief, so I said, “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” I briskly walked to the café’s Men’s room and made the iron rod in my boxers go down in a toilet stall. When I finished, I realized I had at least ten more questions for her. I walked back out and saw her a block away, leaving the area.

Watching women smoke turned me on but talking to them and recording as they did was nearly overwhelming. I was upset that I didn’t know why. I interviewed another lady smoker each morning and each afternoon for the next week and had the same issues. I got aroused and erect quickly and needed to pause the interviews after only ten or fifteen minutes. Usually my subjects went on their way before I returned.

I thought maybe I could pay some ladies for a full interview at my place. I’d run to the bathroom halfway through to fix my problem, then ask the rest of my questions. I put an add on the college bulletin board. After five days, there were no responses. I asked one of my friends why.

He looked at the ad and laughed. “Think about your wording. ‘Young smoking ladies, earn $50 for an hour at my apartment. Call 646 -------”

I asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“It sounds like you want cheap hookers!” He laughed and walked off saying, “Good luck!”

I took a classmate to breakfast one morning to discuss the papers we were writing.

When a large Polynesian-looking waitress brought us menus and walked off, we had very different opinions of her. I subtly pointed and whispered to Brad, “Did you see her? Wow!”

He asked, “What? You like fat girls?”

“No, did you see her face?”

“The only part her ink doesn’t cover? You like tats?”

“No, no! Her mouth! Such a pretty...”

She returned with coffee pots and asked, “Regular or decaf?”

“Regular.” Regular.”

“Are you ready to order?”

Brad said, “We need a few minutes.” I added, “Thanks.”

When she left again he whispered, “You want to boink one shaped like an egg? She’s all yours.”

“No, I ... I ... you wouldn’t understand.”

I stared as she sucked on the end of a pen and waited for customers at another table to finish jabbering about their vacation. I noticed her nametag, “Paula”. I thought the bright purple on her plump lips and her dark blue eye shadow were the perfect shades for her face. She refilled the other table’s coffee and I felt myself begin to stiffen when the pen returned to her mouth.

When we finished eating, I paid the check and walked back to the table. Brad stood up to leave and dropped two bucks next to his plate as a tip. He said, “Thanks for breakfast. Good luck with Shamu.”

I bit my lip to control my anger at him implying she was a whale. I put the ones in my wallet and took out a twenty. When she turned and saw me set it on the table she smiled. Despite the rest of her, she had pretty brown eyes and a luscious, absolutely gorgeous mouth. I approached and told her, “You have a nice smile. Did you ever want to be a model?”

She pointed a finger at my face and her expression changed to suspicious anger. “Twenty’s a big tip, but that’s mean!”

“No! Seriously! No joke. I’ll pay you if I can take some pictures and talk to you on camera.”

She skeptically asked, “Really?”

“Really. I’m Craig. Would you have an hour or two on Thursday night, Paula? Fifty dollars for an hour.”

It was the late ‘80s and most waitresses were lucky to make $200 in a week. She smiled. “FIFTY BUCKS! How about seven o’clock?”

I nodded. “Okay. I’m in Klein Hall, room 341. It’s over on...”

“I know where it is. What should I wear?”

I’d only planned to get pictures and video of her face and was stumped by the unexpected question. “Um, I don’t know much about fashion. Uh, something pretty.”

“Okay, see you Thursday night.”

When I heard a knock at my door, I opened it and saw Paula with a big guy in leather. He finished telling her, “ ... still think you should have worn the blue one. You look like a tomato.” She blushed in shame.

I barely noticed her long dark hair, red dress, or the shape of her body. Instead, I stared at her beautiful mouth. She said, “Hi, Craig. This is my boyfriend, Richard.”

He looked jealous or mildly angry as he held out his hand and said, “Most people call me Dick.”

As I shook it I thought to myself, ‘I bet they do’. I told them, “Hi, come on in.”

He did most of the talking. “So, you want to pay to take pictures of her?”

“The shape of her face and...”

He interrupted, “But you can forgive that if you can screw her, right? I know that’s what you actually want.”

“No, I...”

“You can do whatever if you use condoms. It’ll cost you a hundred instead of fifty, though. You got cash?” She looked fearful and quite embarrassed.

I opened my wallet as I said, “Yeah, I have a few hundred, but...”

He grabbed a $100 bill and said, “Good. I’ll be back for her in an hour.” He shut the door behind him as he left.

She reached to unzip her dress as she told me, “I don’t like anal, but I’ll do it for another hundred if you go slow and use lots of lube.”

“No! Hold on! I just want to take some photos and record you.” I thought it sad she couldn’t believe I thought she was pretty and wanted pictures.

She paused and smiled hopefully. “Really?”

I reached for one of my cameras and said, “Yes. You have a very nice face. I just want to get some pictures and record you talking to me. Smile and hold still.”

I took several pictures of her from the neck up at multiple angles, then handed her a sucker and instructed, “Lick it a while, then suck on it.”

She looked at me curiously but agreed, “Okay.”

I took dozens of photos of her licking and sucking the red sucker and drinking cola with a straw. The shape of her mouth and the movement of her cheeks as she sucked was HOT! Above the shoulders, she was one of the sexiest women I’d seen!

I handed her a banana and picked up my video camera. “Lick it for a minute, then eat it slowly.”

By the time the banana was gone, I thought my shorts had never been tighter. She pointed to the bulge in my crotch and giggled. “Hehehe! I guess you really do like me. Put the camera down and take it out.”

“You don’t have to.”

She licked her lips and smiled, then said, “I know, I want to.”

“Let me set up another camera...” I reached and turned the second one on as she unzipped me and pulled my jeans down.

Halfway through the blowjob I asked, “Would you smoke a cigarette for me?” I strongly hoped she’d be willing.

She moved her head back and my cock pulled out of her mouth with a wet ‘POP!’. She looked at me like I was insane. I realized it was extremely strange timing for my request. She said, “I don’t like smoking.”

“Will you, for another fifty? Please?”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll smoke one when you finish.” She sucked the head of my penis back into her mouth, and soon after I pumped a wad onto her tongue.

I handed her a lighter and a pack of Marlboro lights, then recorded her puffing and coughing her way through her first-ever cigarette. As she dropped the butt in an empty soda can, I saw it was nearly time for her to leave. If I hadn’t just cum minutes before, I would have been hard as a baseball bat! Seeing her suck was terribly arousing!

As she popped a mint in her mouth and started drinking another cola, I offered, “Could you spend the weekend with me? I’ll mostly record you sucking on things and smoking. Plus a few more blowjobs.”

“Smoking is awful! It tastes like burning poop!”

“Only two days for five hundred? Will you?”

“I uh...” She thought silently for quite a while. “Richard and I want to be tattoo artists. The guys who own the parlor want three grand apiece for us to join as partners.” She blushed furiously as she suggested, “I know that’s a lot, but if I spend the weekends in your bed a while ... I’d let you screw me and do anal, too.” Just then her boyfriend returned.

After a long and very awkward negotiation, she became a full-time smoker and my paid girlfriend. I moved from the dorm to a small apartment and she stayed with me instead of ‘Dick’. After each pack of cigarettes, I’d get her a different brand. I recorded her smoking Winstons, Camels, Newports, Kools, and a few others. She decided she liked Salem 100’s best. I didn’t want to think of her as a prostitute, but I guess she actually was.

I only screwed her and did her ass about twice a week each, with condoms, but got at least a pair of blowjobs every day. The first week she only had four or five cigarettes a day, but gradually increased to a pack and a half by the end of our two months together. I greatly enjoyed her blowjobs and LOVED to watch her smoke. If she wasn’t obese, and if she had several tattoos instead of several square feet of them, I might have asked her to dump Richard and be my girlfriend for real.

When she left and returned to him, I realized I was barely started with my thesis and would be out of time to submit for the current term. I did a little brainstorming about how I could finish it for the next semester. I should go to an area with a lot of female smokers and evaluate the reactions of the young men there. I did some investigation and found what I thought would be a good place, a small town in a southeastern state where many people smoked. If I needed to talk to somebody more than once, I would be able to find them again in a small town. I wanted information about young smokers too, since I first noticed my fetish in high school.

I rented an apartment there and had the same problems. Young ladies were nervous about meeting a strange man at his home. I did many interviews in a park and at the homes of lady smokers. I got hundreds more hours of footage, but nearly all of them were 20 or older. Younger girls who still lived with their parents usually weren’t allowed to smoke at home.

I spent a month each in South Carolina, Tennessee, and Alabama. Everywhere I went, I had the same trouble. They didn’t trust strangers enough to be interviewed at my place, and the teenagers couldn’t smoke or talk about it at their parents’ house.

I devoted a week to formulating a new plan. I found a trio of towns only a mile or so each from the border where three states met. The states had different legal ages for alcohol and tobacco, so I reasoned a lot of young people would be crossing into another state to buy beer or cigarettes.

I also decided I should observe high school girls when they were away from home, so I would know which ones smoked. I would go to their homes and offer money to interview them a few times to get them to trust me, then record them at my place. Instead of renting, I bought a small house. I had plenty of money, more than I really knew what to do with. I left most of it in safe investments, only buying what I needed. I was focused on my research, not fun.

I needed information for my thesis and I had a strong desire to watch the pretty ones smoking. I reviewed the state and local laws, to make sure I wouldn’t be breaking any. I had no intention to touch the girls or do anything romantic or sexual with them. I bought copies of the local high school yearbooks, to help me identify my subjects. Several times I felt like I was being creepy and nefarious, like a stalker, but I never harmed anyone and never wanted to.