Revolutionary Magic 101 Magical Lessonings
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The Magic Cigarettes free porn video
The Magic Cigarettes
By Heather St. Claire
Hi, my name is Lyle...except for most weekends, when it's Lyla.
Confused? I would be, too. Here's my story, whether you can believe it or
not. It all has to do with some magic cigarettes.
You know what the really ironic thing about this is? I grew up hating
smoking. My parents smoked; so did my older sister. But I decided at an early
age that I wanted nothing to do with the habit. I made a vow when I was 13 to
never even date a girl who smoked--and for a decade, I kept that vow.
I graduated from college a couple of years ago, not knowing what I wanted to
do with myself. I had a business degree, but didn't see myself climbing the
corporate ladder. The women I had dated told me I was fairly handsome,
charming, and I had the gift of gab. I decided to try the world of real
estate. It seemed to offer me the freedom I was looking for.
To make a short story even shorter, I got my license, found a job with one of
the major players in commercial properties in my city, and before I knew it,
my income was pushing six figures. I worked hard, and played hard, enjoying
swimming, tennis, skiing and all kinds of weekend sports. Did I forget to
mention sex?
My life was forever changed, though of course I didn't know it then, the
evening last spring when I was in one of my favorite downtown bars unwinding
after work. You know the type of place....the touch of the decorator is in
everything from the abstract prints on the wall to the leather booths, the
track lighting, and the carefully placed plants. No one making less than 50
G's a year would feel comfortable in this kind of place...in short, it was an
expensive meat market.
I came in after work one Friday, ready to celebrate closing a big deal on a
suburban shopping mall. I took a table near the bar, looked over, and quite
simply, my heart skipped a beat as I gazed on the most beautiful woman I had
ever seen in my life.
She was tall, slim, but with a beautifully-proportioned figure and long
gorgeous legs. She wore a short, tight black velvet dress that showed off
every curve. Her heart-shaped face was surrounded by a mane of curly blonde
hair, and her smile was dazzling. In short, it was love at first sight. We
made eye contact, she smiled at me, and before I knew it, I was sitting next
to her.
I found out that her name was Carolyn, and that she was a paralegal with a
law firm in the building across the street from where I worked. Everything
was great--until she reached into her purse and took out a pack of cigarettes
and a lighter. She could see the look of distress on my face.
"You don't like smoking?" she asked as she pulled one of the extra-long, slim
white cigarettes from the pack.
"To be honest, no," I said. "You know it's not really good for you."
She sighed. "I'm sorry, Lyle," she said. "But if you get me, you get smoking
as part of the package. I really love it...It relaxes and refreshes me in a
way that nothing else does."
"Well," I said, pausing, "I suppose I can get used to it."
She smiled, and said, "Good." Then she placed the cigarette between her ruby
lips, held the lighter to the tip, and inhaled. I could see the look of
pleasure as she took the first smoke into her lungs; she smiled, closed her
eyes for a moment, then exhaled a long cone of smoke, being careful to blow
it away from me.
We continued to talk, and she continued to smoke. I could see for the first
time what a sensuous act smoking could be; the way her breasts rose and fell
with each deep inhale and exhale. Perhaps, I told myself, I can get used to
this.
We had dinner that night, saw a movie, after which I invited her back to my
condo. After some of the most exciting sex I had ever experienced in my life,
we continued to cuddle, until she caught sight of the clock by my bedside. It
was five minutes to midnight.
She climbed out of bed, wrapped herself in my robe, then headed for her
purse. "What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Sorry," she said. "But I really need a cigarette. Do you mind if I smoke on
your balcony?"
I told her to go ahead; and silently grumbled to myself about nicotine's
addictive powers. Little did I know that it wasn't the nicotine she was so
desperate for.
We saw a lot of each other over the next few weeks. I learned to tolerate her
smoking; otherwise, she was the most perfect woman I had ever known in my
life. But a new mystery began to develop; she never seemed to want to have me
over to her place; we always spent the night at mine.
I began to wonder what she was hiding. Was she ashamed of where she lived?
Was she hiding something? Like another boyfriend? It didn't make sense.
Finally, one night, I decided to press the issue.
When I picked her up, I had an overnight bag in the back seat. "Carolyn," I
said. "The managers of my condo want to paint my place this weekend. I don't
want to have to go to a hotel. Is there any reason I can't stay at your
place?"
"No, Lyle, there isn't," she said softly. "It's just that--well, it's going
to be easier for you to see, than for me to explain. If you want to see my
place, let's go there right now. I'll fix us a nice dinner."
Now I was even more puzzled. When we pulled up at the apartment complex she
had directed me to, I saw a nice, slightly upscale complex; plenty of Lexus's
and BMWs in the parking lot, not a battered compact in sight. Whatever the
mystery was, it was apparently inside her apartment.
When Carolyn opened the front door, I soon realized her concern. The place
was a kind of a shrine to her favorite cigarette brand! It was that brand
that's made its name for more than 30 years appealing to sexy, emancipated
women. There were dozens of framed magazine ads; in the kitchen and bathroom
I found tin advertising signs for the brand that had once been in stores.
The bookshelves by her TV held a series of matching scrapbooks that I
discovered held an amazingly extensive collection of ads for that brand. I
looked at her CDs; the one on top was from a music promotion that brand had
released a couple of years ago.
She could see I was nonplused. "This is a bit much, isn't it?" I finally
asked.
"Ohh, Lyle, you can't really understand how much this brand is part of my
identity....I modeled myself on these women growing up...I wanted to be as
stylish, as beautiful, as confident as they are."
"OK," I said, "If this has made you who you are, who am I to complain?" She
threw her arms around me, and we exchanged a long, hungry kiss.
After a wonderful dinner of poached salmon, we retired to the bedroom early.
It was a warm early summer night; after about an hour and a half in bed
together, we both decided to shower. I went first, then Carolyn. When she
came out of the bathroom, she was wearing a lacy white peignoir set that set
my blood flowing all over again.
I smiled at her. "I bet you want a cigarette now," I said.
"You're coming to understand me, lover," she said.
I watched her as she stepped out onto the patio. The night was clear and the
moon was almost full. There was a gentle, warm breeze that lightly lifted her
curls. As she blew her smoke out into the night air, I thought she never
looked more beautiful.
It was then that I was seized by a sudden, and as it turned out, life
changing impulse. I looked at the pack of cigarettes she had left sitting on
her night table. If I was going to truly understand what this wonderful woman
was all about, maybe I had to try to figure out the deep pleasures that
smoking brought her.
I reached into the pack, pulled out one of the cigarettes, fumbled around in
the drawer until I found one of Carolyn's extra lighters and lit it as I had
watched her do so many times. I took a drag, exhaled, and suddenly thought to
myself, "This is kind of pleasant." But after another couple of drags, I
began to feel light-headed--I thought it was just what happens to someone not
used to the nicotine, stubbed out the butt, and, though I didn't know it,
dozed off.
I was awakened just a couple of minutes later by Carolyn's scream.
"Oh, Lyle, no!" she gasped. "You didn't--you couldn't have..." I heard her
begin to cry.
I felt very foggy and strange, and couldn't fathom what she was so upset
about. So I had tried one of her cigarettes. What has the big deal? I just
wanted to bring us closer together. "Darling, what on earth is the matter?" I
asked from my fog. Or at least I thought I did--the voice I heard was not my
own--it was a woman's voice.
Startled, I felt the fog lift quickly. I set bolt upright, and several
strands of long auburn hair fell into my face. "Oh my God," I said quietly.
Though I was still only half awake, though it made no sense, I instantly
realized the truth...that I had been transformed into a woman!
"It's not permanent," Carolyn said quickly. "Unless you keep smoking ones
from my special stock."
"Special stock?"
"This will take some time to explain. Why don't we have some coffee, and I'll
tell you everything."
"I--I need to put some clothes on."
"She reached into her drawers and handed me a T-shirt: I realized that it was
one of more than a dozen she owned advertising her favorite brand. She dug
out a pair of white cotton panties and a set of cutoffs. I put these on, and
we headed to the kitchen table.
She noticed I was trembling, and suggested I have another cigarette. "They
really are great for calming your nerves," she said a bit hesitantly.
I ran my newly-slim hand through my newly-long hair. "What will this one
change me into? A unicorn?"
We both laughed, and I accepted the light she offered. I sat back, took a
drag, and began to listen to Carolyn's story.
"I was born a boy. A skinny, effeminate little boy, who hated everything
about being male. I found myself in a fantasy world in which I admired women,
wanted to be like them in every way possible. I settled on the women in this
cigarette brand's ads as my absolute ideal.
"I was about 14 when I began my ad collection, mostly by pickup up old
magazines at garage sales and flea markets. I started smoking the brand at
the same time--entirely on the sly, as you can imagine how a boy smoking a
girl's brand would be treated.
"It was the summer after I graduated from high school and got my own
apartment when my life changed forever. I was at a garage sale and found a
funky old lamp in a box of junk. I paid a dollar for it."
I interrupted at this point. Exhaling a long cone of smoke, I asked, "Let me
guess. Aladdin's Lamp, right?"
"No, but I swear to you it was inhabited by a genie. When he appeared, while
I was polishing the lamp after I brought it home, he told me that he would
only grant me one wish, but it would be my heart's deepest desire...and that
I didn't have to tell him, because he already knew it.
"There was a puff of smoke, and a carton of my brand appeared on the table. I
looked at the genie and said, 'I don't want to seem ungrateful, but I can buy
these at the store.'
"It was then that he told me of their magic properties. He assured me that
smoking one of these would transform me into the woman of my dreams, and as
long as I smoked at least one each day, I would remain female. I'm not sure
why he set it up that way--except that he realized that the brand was such an
integral part of my female identity.
"That was more than six years ago, and I've had this form ever since."
"Wow," I said, stubbing out the butt. "And for me--this wears off in 24
hours?"
"That's right--unless you have another."
We finally got to sleep around 2 a.m.; it was almost noon before we were up.
Carolyn tried to talk us into going out on the town--"Just two girls"--she
said, but I said no, insisting on staying in. We had a light lunch, and then
she put one of her favorite movies, "Steel Magnolias," into the VCR.
"Chick flick!" I exclaimed. Then I sighed and said, "Oh, what the heck--I
am--for the day, anyway."
During the movie I let her shape and apply polish to my nails. "It's all
going to disappear at midnight, anyway," she said. Before I knew it, I found
myself totally wrapped up in the movie--and crying! Carolyn saw what was
happening, tenderly stroked my soft cheek, and brushed aside the tears.
"Maybe this is good for you," she said. "A look at the other side."
"Maybe so," I agreed. Then I surprised her by agreeing to a suggestion she
had made earlier. We went into her bedroom, and I let her make up my face and
set my hair.
The effect was stunning. "Lyle, I'd almost be jealous if we were out
competing for the same guy," Carolyn said. I told her I understood, but said
it didn't make sense to call me Lyle in this form. I suggested the name Lyla.
A short time later, we were in bed, and I let Carolyn lead the way as we
mutually discovered the pleasures that two women can share together. We
drifted off to sleep in each other's arms. The last words I heard were, "I
love you, Lyla."
When I awoke, I was Lyle again.
The experience stayed with me throughout the week. Carolyn and I had dinner
once that week, and she could tell I was distracted, my thoughts in a
different place, but she didn't press the issue.
When we met after work that Friday, I didn't hesitate, almost immediately
blurting out, "I want to become Lyla again this weekend."
She smiled, grabbed my hand, squeezed it and said, "I'm glad."
A couple of months later, we were married. We had made arrangements for a
two-week honeymoon in Hawaii. When we booked the room, we let the hotel know
that for business reasons, I would only be there for the first week; my
sister would be sharing the room the second week.
If I was to be truly honest, I would have to say I enjoyed the second week of
the honeymoon more than the first. By now, my inhibitions about appearing in
public as Lyla were gone. Well, with one exception. Carolyn still hadn't been
able to persuade me to wear a bikini poolside. "Honest honey, you've got the
figure for it," she pleaded.
But I stuck to my maillot.
In the year since, I've found myself taking more and more three day weekends,
spending as much time as possible as Lyla.
I find it a little hard to believe, but I'm thinking of making the transition
a permanent one; life just seems so much more pleasurable and exciting as a
woman. I'm going to bring up the idea to Carolyn over dinner tonight.
But if I know my soul sister, she's already thinking along the same lines.
The End
Grace
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