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Holy Smoke
Chapter One: I Meet Ruth
The clouds opened up and rain bucketed out of the sky as I ran for the
first shop door I could find.
I had come to Hayward because I had heard its town square was one of the
most picturesque in northeast Ohio. It had been cloudy, but I bet myself
I could get some good photos before the storm hit.
I lost.
My shirt was drenched, and my glasses were streaked with rain, as I
turned the handle of the first door I reached. I pushed the door open
and stepped inside into the welcoming darkness.
A smoky aroma hit me, but it also comforted me.
"That storm's a devil, isn't she?" a woman asked.
"She really is," I said.
I took my glasses off and let the door close behind me.
"Smells good in here," I said.
Lightning flashed outside, and the interior of the shop lit up.
On the top of the wall opposite me was a mural. A happy, brown-skinned
woman, with green leaves covering the most interesting parts of her body,
was holding out a cigar.
I looked up at the mural with interest. The figure gave off a sense of
strength, and I got the impression she was meant to be the goddess of
something. Smoking? Cigars? Was there a goddess of smoking? There
wasn't, was there?
I put my glasses back on and looked around.
I was in a cigar shop.
"The way it's raining, it doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere for
a while," the woman said.
I looked around and saw this late middle-aged woman with a welcoming,
maternal face standing by the cash register. Streaks of gray ran through
her dark hair. A glance up at the mural and made me guess she had
modeled for the goddess.
The woman smiled at me.
"Name's Ruth Millar," she said, and then she picked up a cigar, put it in
her mouth, and puffed on it.
"Roger Norton," I said, hoping I didn't look as astonished as I felt.
Ruth expelled smoke from her mouth, and she gestured around the shop.
"Do you have an interest in cigars, Roger? Or is this just any old port
in a storm?"
I watched as she drew on her cigar.
"I've always been curious about cigars," I said.
Smoking is bad. That is the message I had gotten all my life. I never
smoked. Never. My mom would kill me if I did.
Yet, as I watched Ruth smoke, the grey plumes swirling past her salt-and-
pepper hair, I knew that I had always been fascinated by women who
smoked. Specifically, women who smoked cigars.
Was it Shirley MacLaine in Two Mules for Sister Sara or was it Natalie
Wood and Vivian Vance in The Great Race who turned me on to women who
smoke cigars?
Whatever the cause, I always got excited when I came across a picture of
a woman defying convention and puffing on a cigar.
And now, here was one in real life.
"Do you have any favorites?" Ruth asked.
"No favorites," I said. "Just curiosity."
So Ruth began talking about the types of cigar she had in stock, warning
me that the smaller sizes could pack a real kick, and explaining that the
lighter the color of the tobacco the milder the cigar was likely to be.
She was a good instructor, but as she talked, I found my attention
drifting back to the mural of the woman with the cigar.
"Excuse me," I finally said. "What is the story behind that mural? It's
very impressive."
Ruth smiled, turned and looked up at the mural, and brushed the corner of
her eye.
"Thank you," she said. "My husband Henry called her Queen Nicotina."
"Queen Nicotina?"
"The goddess of smoking," Ruth said. She chuckled.
"Is there a story?" I asked.
Ruth put her cigar down in an ashtray and shrugged.
"If there is, Henry took it with him," she said.
"Oh," I said.
"Henry was a tobacconist for thirty years," she said. "It was a good
living. He smoked. I didn't. I used to work as secretary at the
elementary school."
"Really?"
"Well, one year, Henry took a Tobacco Heritage Tour, down to Central
America, where they grow tobacco." She shrugged. "He had felt he had
grown stale, was thinking of closing the shop, didn't know what to do
with himself."
Ruth shook her head. "It was around then that he saw the ad for the
Tobacco Heritage Tour. He thought he'd go and see if he still wanted to
sell the store after that or not."
"Sounds reasonable," I said.
"He went. I was working at the school, of course. Anyway, when he came
back, he was full of fire and ideas for the shop."
She raised her hand and pointed at the mural.
"That had been blank wall for years. Henry now wanted to put the mural
there. He made three different sketches for it, had the Queen Nicotina
name, and was all het up for it."
Ruth smiled and shook her head.
"We'd been church-going people before then." She pointed out the window.
"First Methodist, over there. I didn't know where this 'goddess of
smoking' talk came from, but it seemed harmless. Anyway, I told him he
could have his mural, just as long as the tobacco leaves covered up the
parts of the goddess that might get people excited."
I chuckled.
"Well, Henry threw himself into the mural. He'd work on it after the
store closed, sketching out on the wall in pencil and then painting.
He'd have slept here if I had let him."
"Interesting."
"He also wanted me to start smoking cigars around then." Ruth picked up
a new cigar. "He'd never cared that I hadn't smoked until then, but now
he kept telling me that I'd really enjoy it. He'd really enjoy it."
Ruth cut the end of the cigar.
"I kept putting him off, and he'd throw himself deeper into the mural.
Sometimes he'd come home from the shop as I was going to bed."
She struck a match and lit the cigar and began puffing away. Then she
smiled.
"Well, one day it started rained like this." She gestured toward the
outside. "Rain just bucketing down. Henry was nearly done with the
mural. We talked on the phone, and he said he'd finish it before coming
home."
Ruth looked at the ember at the end of her cigar.
"He never came home. Had a heart attack and died here in the store."
"Oh, my God," I said, looking up at Queen Nicotina.
"It was a shock." Ruth drew on the cigar and then expelled the smoke.
"But life goes on. I thought about selling the shop, until I came in
here."
She gestured, taking in the walls.
"So much of Henry seemed to be here, that I realized I couldn't sell it."
Ruth puffed on her cigar again.
"That was when I started smoking cigars. It seemed to bring Henry back
to me." She chuckled. "In some ways, it's like we're closer now than we
ever were."
"Really?"
A big cloud of smoke billowed out of Ruth's mouth.
"What can I do for you?"
I looked up at Queen Nicotina, holding out her cigar to me, and I knew
just what I wanted.
Chapter Two: I Dream of Janice
I had graduated from college in the Spring. I was an English major, and
I soon learned that my degree marked me as a leper in the job market.
Fortunately, in the Fall, I managed to get a job at Monroe Business
Services, where I basically typed all day.
On the plus side, I had a job. When people asked if I had a job, I could
truthfully say "Yes, I have a job."
On the minus side, I could have done this job out of high school. My
fingers, and not my brain, did the work. I was bored out of my mind.
I was the only man who worked for Monroe Business Services. When I
wasn't typing, I was delivering the finished product to various clients.
I didn't have much in common with my co-workers. They were mostly
middle-aged women who talked about soap operas when they weren't typing.
The exception was Janice.
Janice was the daughter of the boss' neighbor and maybe a year or two
younger than me. She had a cute turned-up nose and long black hair that
fell straight down to her shoulders. She was definitely a plus-size, but
I liked the way she filled out her blouse. Hell, her blouse usually
looked like it was trying to constrain two zeppelins.
Many were the times I looked up from my word processor to see Janice
typing away at her word processor, started thinking about those zeppelins
unbound, and could feel a tentpole rising in my pants.
So I'd go back to typing up the mailing list I was working on or ask Mrs.
Monroe if she needed me to make a delivery.
Everyone at Monroe Business Services smoked except me, which was the main
reason I didn't mind when I had to make deliveries.
However, I certainly didn't mind seeing Janice smoke, although it always
struck me as absurd, the difference between her size and the little white
stick that gave her so much pleasure.
Janice had a unique way of smoking. When she put the cigarette between
her lips to inhale, she would always close her eyes. As she drew on the
smoke, a look of serenity and pleasure would spread over her face.
God, did I want to put a look like that on Janice's face.
Many was the night I'd lie in bed and think about putting that blissful
smile on Janice's face, only it wouldn't be a cigarette she held in her
fingers but a certain part of my anatomy.
So when I stood in there Ruth's shop and looked up at the mural of Queen
Nicotina offering me a cigar, I realized what I wanted in my life.
I wanted to be a cigar smoker. I wanted to watch Janice smoke a cigar,
and I wanted her to be my lover.
Chapter Three: I Hatch a Plan
"Did you have a good weekend, Janice?" I asked her when we were both on
break the Monday after my first visit to Ruth's shop.
"It was okay," she said and took a sip of coffee.
"I smoked a cigar," I told her.
"You? You never smoke," she said.
"Well, I went to Hayward on Saturday, and I found this neat cigar shop.
The proprietor was very nice, and she talked me into buying and smoking a
cigar."
"I don't believe it."
"I did. I plan on going back there this Saturday and smoking another
cigar."
Janice shook her head. "You're pulling my leg."
"I'm very serious." I paused. "Why don't you come along with me. I'll
buy a cigar for you too."
She laughed.
"I'm not going to smoke any cigar," she said.
"Well, why not?" I asked. "You smoke cigarettes."
"That's different," Janice said. She took another swallow of coffee.
"Women are supposed to smoke cigarettes. For a woman to smoke a cigar...
Well, that's just wrong. It's undignified and unladylike."
"Ruth smokes cigars, and she's very ladylike," I said.
"No thanks," Janice said, and we walked back to our desks.
I went back to Ruth's shop that Saturday, alone, and the next three
Saturdays, always alone. I always invited Janice to come along, offered
to bring her a cigar from the shop, did everything except pay her to come
along to the shop and smoke.
The answer was always the same. No
I sat in this big leather easy chair in Ruth's shop with my back to the
window and smoked as I looked up at Queen Nicotina's mural on the wall.
Goddess of smoking, I thought.
And then I thought some more.
Gods and goddesses were supposed to do miracles right? Like transform
people into swans or frogs or trees. So if Queen Nicotina were a real
goddess, she could do a miracle for me, if she wanted to.
I looked into her smiling brown face.
Queen Nicotina had power all right. She had transformed me from a non-
smoker into a cigar smoker.
I puffed on my cigar and regarded the goddess.
Okay, Nicotina, hear my prayer and transform Janice from a cigarette
smoker into a cigar smoker.
I released a plume of smoke from my mouth.
That shouldn't be as big of a transformation as from non-smoker to cigar
smoker, I thought. Even a goddess whose only shrine was in a cigar store
in a small Ohio town should be able to pull off that miracle.
A gust of wind swept down the street, shaking the window behind me, and
causing the door to blow open.
"My goodness!" Ruth rushed out from behind the counter and closed the
door.
I kept looking at Queen Nicotina.
That is my miracle, Queen of Cigars. Make Janice a cigar smoker. Do
that, and I will worship you all the days of my life. Fail to do it, and
you are just something that a crazy old coot painted on the wall.
"It looks like another storm is trying to brew up out there," Ruth said,
as she walked back to her seat behind the cash register. "It might be as
bad as the one that drove you in here in the first place."
I stood up.
"I'll try to get home before the rain lets go," I said. I walked over to
the counter. "Could I buy another Macanudo?"
"Sure." Ruth quickly rang me up. "One cigar on Saturday no longer
enough for you?"
"This one is for a friend," I said.
I looked up at Queen Nicotina.
"It will be a special occasion."
Chapter Four: I Get What I Want
Five o'clock rolled around. I saved my document, another mailing list,
and shut my word processor off.
I looked across the office and saw Janice doing the same.
I took a breath. Would Queen Nicotina come through for me? This was the
moment I would put her to the test.
Janice stood up and walked over to the coat rack. I followed.
"Do you have any plans for tonight, Janice?" I asked her.
She stopped. She didn't move. I stood there and blinked, and she didn't
move.
Finally, she turned her head to me.
"Why, no, Roger," she said. "Did you have anything in mind?"
Now I blinked. Her voice sounded different. Neutral, sort of, like
Janice wasn't exactly home, even though she was talking to me.
"I was just wondering if you wanted to come over to my apartment and
smoke a cigar with me," I said.
"That would be fine," Janice said. "I will have to call my Mom first and
tell her I won't be home for dinner."
"Um, sure," I said, as the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
"You live in the Foxrun Apartments on Ranger Road, don't you?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I'll have to get gas. I'll see you at your apartment at 6:30. Okay?"
My heart was pounding so hard now I almost wanted to tell her to forget
it. How the hell did Janice know I lived at the Foxrun? Why was she
talking so funny?
Then I looked at how Janice's boobs pressed against her blouse and
imagined her smoking a cigar, and realized I couldn't wait to see that
happen.
"See you at 6:30," I said. "My apartment is..."
"231," she said. "I'll be there."
And then Janice blinked and walked over to the telephone on the front
desk. She picked it up and began to dial.
"Hi, Mom," she said, her voice bright and cheerful, with none of the
neutral quality that had been in it when she spoke to me. "Something's
come up at work, and I won't be home for a while."
I walked out of the office and walked down the hall to the parking lot.
Queen Nicotina really did have power, I thought. She was bringing Janice
to my apartment to smoke a cigar.
I drove home as carefully as I could. I didn't want to be crushed by a
cement mixer on my way to my great sex fantasy.
I picked up my living room, ran the vacuum around, took everything off
the sofa, and put the cigar on the coffee table.
Janice was coming to my apartment to smoke a cigar. This was actually
going to happen.
"Thank you, Queen Nicotina," I said. "If Janice comes through that door
and smokes a cigar, I'll do my best to repay you. I'll smoke a cigar a
day for the rest of my life. I don't care what happens to me, as long as
Janice smokes a cigar now."
Someone knocked at my door. I stood up and, heart thundering, walked
over and opened it. A glassy-eyed Janice stood there.
"Hello, Roger," she said, stepping into my apartment.
"How was your drive over?" I asked.
She ignored me and walked over to the sofa.
"Where is the cigar?" she asked.
"It's right here," I said.
And suddenly I couldn't see anything anymore. I tried to scream, but I
couldn't. I couldn't move my arms or legs.
I was just... somewhere.
The only thing I was aware of was the smell of tobacco, like if I were in
Ruth's shop, and she had opened a humidor and jammed my face into it.
The funny thing was that it was kind of pleasant, having that aroma roll
over me. I wasn't really worried that I couldn't see or feel anything. I
don't even think I had a mouth anymore. Still, I just felt good. I was
kind of dizzy with all that tobacco aroma permeating me, but good.
Then Janice put her hand on me.
My first thought was that she had her hand on my cock, but that couldn't
be right, because I couldn't tell where my cock was anymore. Her warm,
gentle fingers gripped me, and I wanted to scream with joy, but I didn't
have any mouth.
Thank you, Queen Nicotina. Thank you.
I just radiated in the pleasure of the tobacco aroma and Janice's
fingers, not wanting it to end but keep going.
And then Janice cut me.
I tried to scream, to shriek, to break free and run like hell, but I
couldn't do anything but rest in Janice's fingers and think about my
wound.
How could she do this to me? Whether that was Janice or Queen Nicotina,
I didn't know, but I was in agony.
Then Janice put my wound between her lips.
It almost made up for having my end cut off. I just nestled in and
relaxed. I was closer to Janice than I had ever expected to be, and this
was wonderful.
A moment later, Janice set my head on fire.
Damn you, Queen Nicotina, this isn't what I wanted! It isn't what I
wanted at all!
As my head started to burn, Janice began drawing on my end.
Oh, Nicotina, Nicotina, Nicotina!
This was good.
Janice drew on my end, exhaled, and drew on my head, and exhaled. I
could feel her relax as she got into smoking me. She wasn't uptight and
worried about whether she was doing it right. She was starting to have
fun.
I could feel myself burning away as she drew on me, but I didn't really
care.
I thought of how absurd my life had been. Going to college, getting good
grades, and then just cranking out mailing lists and letters that nobody
wanted and ultimately ended up in a trashcan somewhere.
I was making Janice happier now than I had in all the months I had known
her.
Thank you, Queen Nicotina. Thank you, dear sweet one.
As Janice smoked me, I found myself pulled into her nostrils or sucked
down her throat. As she ingested me, I could sense Janice coming into
focus, the weight of her bosom on her chest or her hair falling down her
back.
I never could have gotten here without Queen Nicotina.
Still I continued to burn and still Janice drew on my smoking husk. I
could feel myself pressing on my lip and could feel myself going in and
out of my body.
Could I see now?
I opened my eyes and saw my apartment. I looked and saw Janice's hand
holding the cigar (me?) to my mouth.
Reality spun for a moment, and I blinked and raised Janice's left hand to
press against my forehead.
I looked down and saw Janice's (my?) massive breasts pressing against her
(my?) blouse. I could see her (my?) nipples, sticking out despite the
fabric.
I hurried to my bathroom, turned the light on , and looked into the
mirror.
Janice (me?), cigar in hand, looked at me in the glass.
I now clenched the cigar between my teeth and clapped my hands to my (?)
breasts and started to knead them as I puffed on the cigar.
I looked at myself (Janice) in the mirror. My cigar (Roger?) was just a
nub now, I realized as I drew on it. I grinned.
"Thank you, Queen Nicotina," I said, amazed at the miracle.
A wave of pleasure radiated through me, and my vision blurred.
I blinked and looked down at my bosom. Why the hell was I gripping my
breasts like that? I released them and took the cigar out of my mouth.
What was going on?
"Roger?" I called. "Where'd you go, Roger?"
There, to my left, Roger's clothes lay in a pile on the floor.
"Holy smoke!" I said.
I looked around, expecting to see a grinning Roger standing there.
"I'm leaving, Roger!" I put the cigar in my mouth and closed my eyes as
I puffed to calm myself. I opened my eyes and removed my cigar. "Don't
try anything funny."
I let myself out of the apartment, slammed the door behind me, and
hurried down the hall to the elevator.
I pressed the button for the lobby and looked down the hallway.
The elevator dinged, and I got inside. The doors closed, and the
elevator started to descend.
Why the hell had I come here? I wondered. That apartment was just too
small. I mean, I was getting tired of living at my mom's, but the
apartment I had just looked at was better suited for a bachelor.
The door opened, and I stepped out into the lobby. The night manager was
talking on the phone as I walked past. He looked up at me.
I shook my head and handed him back the key.
"Thanks, but not for me, I'm afraid."
He nodded. "It's been empty for five months now. They probably ought to
paint it if they want someone to move in."
"Good night," I said.
I walked out to my car. Before I got my keys out, I looked at the cigar
between my fingers and thought that a trip out to Hayward this Saturday
would be just the thing.
Chapter Five: I Meet Henry
A light drizzle started as I got out of my car and hurried over to the
Hayward Cigar Shop. I opened the door, and Ruth gave me a warm smile.
"Hello, Janice!" She practically beamed at me. "Good to see you."
I blinked and pointed at the green-eyed woman.
"You're Ruth, right?"
She nodded eagerly.
"Oh, I've been waiting for you to show up." She looked me over from head
to toe like this was some kind of inspection.
"That Roger really knew what he wanted," Ruth said.
"Who's Roger?" I asked.
"A friend of Henry's," Ruth said.
Chuckling, she then reached down under the counter and brought out a
cigar box and held it out to me.
"Here," she said. "On the house. Once we've lit up, things'll be a lot
more clear."
Well, she didn't have to ask me twice. I walked over, took a cigar, cut
off the end, and studied the mural of Queen Nicotina as Ruth lit up.
"My mother thinks smoking cigars is unladylike," I said before I lit my
cigar.
"Her loss," Ruth said and exhaled a stream of smoke. "More cigars for us
then."
"That's right," I said, and I put my cigar between my lips and puffed.
As I did, I sort of remembered someone, sort of a college kid, watching
me smoke.
I released the stream and opened my eyes just as Ruth drew deep on her
cigar. She expelled a plume of smoke and fixed me with her pale blue
eyes.
I blinked. Weren't her eyes green when I came in the store?
"Well, Roger, how do you like your new body?" she asked.
I staggered as memories flooded back. Ruth grinned at me then drew on
her cigar again.
This time, she released an enormous plume of smoke that obscured her face
for a moment. When the smoke cleared, a bald, male head grinned at me
from behind a cigar clenched between his teeth.
"Henry?" I asked.
He? She? Took the cigar out of her mouth and lowered it so it hovered
over her still maternal bosom.
"That Nicotina's one hell of a goddess, isn't she, Roger?" he asked and
pointed at the mirror set up by the cash register.
I glanced at my reflection and saw Roger's startled face looking out at
me. I lowered my gaze and saw Janice's well-endowed torso under my head.
"Holy smoke!" I said and looked back at Henry in befuddlement.
"Welcome to the sisterhood, Roger," Henry said.
He winked at me, took another puff, and his bald, male features became
obscured by smoke. When it finally dissipated, Ruth's concerned face
gazed out at me again.
"Henry was so eager to meet you." She shook her head and then gave me a
warm smile. "Welcome to the sisterhood of the leaf, Janice," she said
before taking a puff on her cigar.
I put my cigar between my lips and puffed quickly and then, with pounding
heart, looked into the mirror.
To my relief, Janice's bewildered face looked back at me.
I sighed with relief and smiled at Ruth.
"Thank you," I said.
Ruth gestured over her shoulder at the mural.
"Don't thank me. Thank her."
I raised my head to the painting on the wall behind her, the mural of the
brown goddess who held out a cigar to me. I raised my cigar to my lips
and smoked as I looked into that painted face to try and see why she had
seen fit to bless Roger and make him into Janice.
I drew on my cigar.
"Praise to you, Nicotina," I said as I released the smoke. "Praise to
you, my Queen."
Now if the goddess could only find me a man who wasn't intimidated by a
woman who smoked cigars.
Author's Note:
I hope you have enjoyed this story. If you did, please look for my Tales
of Metamorphosis books at Amazon.
Goriod: Tales of Metamorphosis # 1 takes place in the Classic era and is
now available.
Lorinocco: Tales of Metamorphosis # 2 takes place during the
Enlightenment and is forthcoming.
Patient M: Tales of Metamorphosis # 3 takes place during the 20th
Century and is forthcoming.
Mila
- 29.06.2022
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