A Cigar is Never Just a Cigar
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Sometimes, A Cigar Is Just A Cigar free porn video
Sometimes, a Cigar is Just a Cigar
By Rosie
Here we are, the men of our little community, gathered around our country
club, as we like to call it, sipping whisky, smoking cigars and discussing
how to keep the reins of the society in our hands. Truth be told, we've
let them slip out of our hands a little too much, lately. In fact, we've
let things go so much out of control that it's a wonder we even manage to
get together like that. Every time we do, there's this tense feeling in
the air that it may very well the last time we men sit around to talk and
relax. Yet for some reason, the women always allow not olny these get-
togethers of ours, but the whisky and cigars, too. They probably have
something up their sleeves, but you know? I love my cigars and I love my
scotch.
So forgive us if we spend more time talking about our clothes and proper
skin care than keeping the reins of the society in our hands. Times have
changed and I guess nowadays, a man has to take more care of his
appearance, lest he should get in trouble with the womenfolk. We've got to
keep the broads of our backs, you know, before we get around to taking the
reins back in our hands.
We really should do something about it. It's not that our country club has
ever been a luxurious mansion. More like a cottage with cheap, plywood
furniture and a roof in constant need of fixing, but it gave us something
that Jeff's living room, no matter how luxurious, doesn't. It was our
shelter, our fort, a place where not just anyone can burst in at any given
time.
Before we do address this issue properly though, we need to keep the
broads of our backs. Get a chance to take a breath. I guess that's why
we're discussing housework. Seems simple enough and what's there to
discuss about it anyway, but there's always some detail you haven't known
about, some new trick you learn that makes your life a lot easier. So
there's Jeff and Andy, swapping recipes, and there's Simon and Eric
sharing their experience about hair products and I'm waiting for Mike to
finish setting up munchies so he can tell me all about hemming those pants
his wife wore for a party last week. The munchies are for later. The
munchies are not for us, but we do have our cigars, which seem kind of
lonesome, just sitting in the ashtrays. Some of them have already gone
out. So I sip on my whisky and try to relax, leaning back in my easy
chair, but I find it's not easy at all. The relaxing is a challenge, since
as I've said, anytime anyone can come in. Thus, we have to keep up our
appearances, meaning dress appropriately, which makes leaning back a bit
of a challenge, too.
Anyhow, Mike is taking his sweet time, so I take some more sips, feeling
the warm tingle inside of me, which I accompany by dragging on my cigar.
The Nicaraguan tobacco is a little more spicy than I would like it to be,
but in the second third, the spice has mellowed out, giving room to
pleasant notes of toasted almonds, coffee, vanilla and the sweetness of
that Mexican wrapper. Some things never change, despite all, I say to
myself, feeling very pleased, though at the same time I have the feeling
I'd enjoy the cigar more if I didn't have to be so goddam careful about
keeping the ash dropping over my clothes.
"Hello, boys!" Mike's wife Evelyn sings, barging in, all of the sudden,
"Everybody happily sucking on your brown penises?"
See, this is what I'm talking about. It's not that I'm asking to be king
of the world, I'd just be able to relax and enjoy every now and then
without having to put up with such crap. Still, we are where we are and
Evelyn's voice shoots through the room like a machine gun burst, killing
the atmosphere and leaving everyone else in a state of shock.
"No need to get up, sweetie-pies," she says before anyone can react
properly, "And drop the formalities, it is your time off, after all."
We remain seated but all eyes are still on her as she walks about her
living room until she finally stops by my chair. I know better than to
speak before her, but the moments she stands above me seem to drag into
eternity and I'm just wishing she'd go away and let me be but it's not to
be.
"You mind if I take a drag?" she says, picking up my cigar.
"Not at all, Miss Evelyn," I say. She has said to drop the formalities,
but the honorific has long since become uttered automatically. Besides, as
if she had really meant it.
"What's it like?" she asks me.
"Very nice, actually," I say, "The taste's just began to develop."
"Really?" she says, "Into what?"
"Vanilla," I blurt out, "but it is a bit strong, the cigar."
"I think I can handle it," she says and takes a few puffs, making the
charred foot glow like a bright red cherry. This will take forever to cool
down, I curse under my breath.
"I don't know about vanilla," she says, "but I'm very distinctly picking
up raspberry."
I don't have to lick my lips to know where the intrusive aroma is coming
from, but I do so anyway. Evelyn puts down my cigar in the ashtray, among
those that Mike, Jeff and Andy have left behind.
"You know, I used to wonder how you boys can tell your cigars apart when
you leave them like that." She points to the ashtray. "But now I see how
you do it."
"Each one has his own color, right?" She points to the feet of the cigars
in the ashtray. Sure enough, each of them has traces of a differently
colored lipstick. Jeff's one is bright red. Mine is pink, but not as light
pink as Andy's.
"I think you should freshen up yours, honey," she tells me. "You wouldn't
want some other boy sucking on your nice brown dildo, would you?"
"No, Miss Evelyn," I humbly say and scurry away to find my handbag. I feel
humiliated and demeaned, but at the same time just happy to get away from
that imposing woman. I've left my handbag on the dinning table and I don't
know if I should pull out a chair or not so I just do what I need to do
standing up. I take out my compact and my lipstick and after applying
another layer, I decide to put on some more mascara too. I could rub some
more blush into my cheeks, but I don't want her to think I am stalling, so
I get back to where I was, though don't sit down just yet.
"Much better," she says and rather than dropping the formalities, I place
my left foot behind my right and drop a curtsey instead.
"Thank you, Miss Evelyn," I say.
"Is this the dress that Mike helped you sew?" she asks me, plucking at the
sheer silk of my billowing sleeve.
"Yes, it is," I say.
"I think it looks very pretty on you," she says.
"Thank you, Miss Evelyn," I say and I guess this time the gratitude is at
least a little bit earnest so I pick at the skirts with my thumbs and
index fingers and drop an even deeper curtsey.
"Mike is very talented," I say.
"He is a gem around the house, I'll admit that," she says, then she starts
to walk away.
"Well, I'll leave you boys alone," she says, "Have all the fun you want,
just make sure you remind Mike to have the room ready for tonight. Keep on
sucking on those dildos."
She may have left, but the atmosphere in the place is as morbid as if she
was still here. One by one we get off our seats as there is no use in
pretending to relax. Instead, we do what we do best. In Mike's kitchen,
there are plenty of aprons for everyone to put on over our pretty dresses,
blouses and skirts. Once the apron strings are tied in neat bows behind
our backs, we set out to work, setting up the table, tidying the room,
preparing snacks. The click-clacking of our high heels is hardly ever
disturbed by our voices but despite our silence, the notion of that bond
that we share is stronger than it was before. As we flutter about the room
with our chores, our movements restricted by the clothes we have to wear,
we know exactly what our place in the society is. There is the feeling of
belonging to a brotherhood because although each one has their own burden
to carry, the place we've been pushed to is the same one for all of us.
I'm helping Mike in the kitchen, only occasionally taking a break to
return to my cigar. I smoke it slowly, enjoying each puff. I'm in no hurry
to go anywhere. What mood Beth will be in is anybody's guess, but having
stupidly left the laundry basket in the living room will get me a spanking
in any case. Maybe her mother is coming to visit us. I don't know. Maybe
Beth is coming down to the party we're setting up. I don't know. Maybe
I'll have to spend the night in my mother-in-law's bed. I don't know. Nor
am I in any real hurry to find out. So I take things slow. I enjoy each
puff. What I do know is that I've only got an inch or so left of the sweet
vanilla. Once I hit the final third I'll probably have to put the cigar
down, because I do know that the spice will come back in full force. Some
things never change.
Elissa
- 20.09.2021
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