IMPORTANT NOTE TO READERS! – As an official disclaimer, it must be noted and strongly emphasized that no sexual relationships between “underage” individuals and adults—either consensual or non-consensual—ever actually takes place within the descriptions and the general narrative of this literary work. As you read this story, you will come to realize that the brunt of what is being described deals with fantasy, but mostly with the psychological development of this human’s mind on the subject of sex.
So, what you are about to read is a self-confessional/self-psychoanalytical short story—an autobiography of sorts—which attempts to explain the development and nature of a personal obsession, while also describing points of early fantasy.
PART 2 – Media, libido, and my dick radar
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. It’s all about women doing stuff with their mouths; right?…And with a phallic object, no less!”
Where there’s no denying the previous statement’s basic validity—yes, there is the obvious oral sex suggestiveness whirling around the act itself, admittedly—painting it with a brush that broad would be an oversimplification. There is much more to explaining the overarching ‘mystique,’ and the reasons stoking the fire under the attraction are more nuanced.
As I said; through these early perceptions, much of my personal neuroses surrounding this particular fetish grew strong. Furthermore, the influences could be seen as being directly attributable to an apparent ever-present element of sensuality and sophistication connecting cigarettes with sex and ‘loose’ sexual behavior; all of which very purposely seemed to underpin plot lines through out a lot of media production. This was especially noticeable with the portrayal of female smokers. Every time they depicted women smoking back then, it would appear to have had a suggestive or provocative purpose. I would venture to say that book and script writers, directors, etc, appear to be applying this suggestive “bad girl”/promiscuity code to the work being produced even to this very day.
But, at any rate; back during my impressionable era, my horny, fevered brain picked up on all of the well-placed cues, and honed in on the innuendo-laced promiscuity like radar. Understandably, the directorial angle seemed to be done in such a way as to emphasize a developing or an established character trait. Sometimes that sexuality and sophistication was subtle, or otherwise presented in such a way as to convey a somewhat wanton manner. While other times it was intended to just come across as innocent playfulness. And, of course, then there were also those moments when the point, or plot devise was blatant, and therefore came across as being very hot to me!
Whatever the intent, it “worked” for me as a budding, seriously obsessed fetishist.
In those early days, the ever-present-subliminally-suggestive messages emanating from the media landscape seemed to translate bursa escort very clearly to the women in real life, as well. This included the women around me. Quietly observing these fascinating women—and for the most part, undetected in doing so—I began to pick up on little nuances held within their behavior during certain moments. Being an 18 year old and mostly considered a lovable pest, at times I seemed to be virtually invisible to the elders, and I could easily get away with my scrutiny, if I sat there quietly enough.
And, it was during those “special moments” when I observed plenty! Whether wittingly or unwittingly, these sexy sirens of my youth seemed to be utilizing this ‘arrow in their quiver’ by subtly applying their smoking mannerisms toward a purpose; implementing it as a sometimes useful method to attract, to incite, or to otherwise arouse the men around them. Understanding the ‘incitement’ or ‘teasing’ aspects in their behavior is important, because it represents a key element in the explanation of what started to happen in my head early within my own personal capnolagnia/smoking fetishism history.
Speaking of history; at this point it would probably be helpful if you knew a little more about my background.
Now, you wouldn’t know by my on-line pseudonym and persona that I am actually of Italian decent. I come by it naturally; a rich southern Abruzzese heritage was derived from both sides of my family. Both my parents were born in Italy but immigrated to the USA when they were young children.
As a first generational off-spring here in the states, I grew up nestled within a densely populated, close-knit Italian neighborhood in New York City. My youth was generally happy and full; an upbringing very typical of those like me from my generation who were raised within the Roman-Catholic tradition in many east coast metro areas.
Between my relatives and neighbors, I was surrounded by dark-haired, olive-skinned women of varying ages, all of whom, by and large, were absolute beauties. My sexy youngish Italian aunts, my older sister, along with many older female cousins—as well as quite a number of their female friends—became prime ‘targets,’ providing early masturbatory fantasy fuel for my over-stimulated brain. Besides their good looks, mostly all of these wonderful women were smokers during those early days.
Watching these alluring females smoke, and then mentally filing those sexy images away for future devilish use, became a favorite sinful pastime; a frequently-committed sin, by the way, which I would never divulge to the priest sitting on the other side of the mesh screen in the confessional on Friday afternoons! Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined doing anything like that, under any circumstances!
Aside from experiencing the embarrassment of actually having to describe all of those sordid, borderline-incestuous details of this self-abusing routine to a priest—not to mention how bursa escort bayan crazy all of it would sound—there would be the fear of public exposure and the consequences to deal with. The assumption that anything said within the walls of the confessional would be held in the strictest confidence didn’t apply to young men like me; not when it involved subject matter such as this.
The confessional itself was intimidating. That priest knew every person to whom he gave penance. The latticework separating the parishioner’s face from the clergyman’s obscured nothing. Sure as nature makes little green apples, you could bet that as soon as you stepped inside that cubical, he could see you. He knew who you were, and he knew your relatives! So, there you would be, fully exposed to his judgmental glare; kneeling within an enclosed small space, breathing in the pious aroma of Pontifical incense, while having to share sensitive information about your dirty little fantasies and sexual urges to a man who has taken a vow of celibacy.
Nope…that would be totally unimaginable…no way!
I always considered it safer and much easier for everyone concerned to just stick to ‘the script’ while in the confessional; you know? Stating the normal litany of innocent little offenses, taken from the list of less-severe fabricated indiscretions always sufficed. Because after confessing to breaking a couple of the ‘soft’ commandments—e.g. “I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain X number of times,” and “I missed mass last Sunday”—then mumbling the prescribed obligatory penance, I would be out of there; virtually unscathed, with no one the wiser, and once again on my merry way back to the bathroom to tend to my hard-on.
If I started confessing this other stuff; before I could say “Saint Francis save me,” I would find myself up to my deviant little neck in holy shit, and with a whole lot-a hell to pay! Besides, if I were dopey enough to ever admitting to having “impure thoughts” about covering my aunts’ faces (Mother Mary, and Joseph!…Even my own sister’s face!) in warm semen while they blew smoke near my erupting penis; there could never be enough “Hail Marys,” “Our Fathers,” or “Acts of Contrition” muttered in guilt-ridden penance to keep me from feeling the fires of eternal damnation!
Christ!…Even if somehow I managed to live through the confession itself, I’d be kneeling in front of the virgin Mary’s statue and the rack of flickering candles for a frigging week repeating those prayers until my voice turned hoarse!
Anyway; back to my fantasies…
Later, after the sights and smells of these women smoking were committed to memory, I would feverishly access the image files I had stored as I stood secluded behind the locked door of the only private room in the house; the bathroom. Standing there over the toilet, stiffened dick in hand, I would run the pictures in a movie-of-sorts for my pleasure; stoking my fantasies while I all but drubbed a painful escort bursa erection into spurting submission.
Initially, in the earlier phases of this innocent ‘perversion,’ I was happily content with running mental movies of my sexy female relatives and their friends simply just smoking. That would be enough. In doing so, I’d quickly reach nirvana; my exploding organ firing fresh sperm flying to land in and onto the toilet while stray shots were sent splashing against the bathroom wall.
My main obsession centered around the sight of their mouths during the act. The kiss-like drags they took, and especially their sexy puckered-lip exhales became major hot focal points. Why, just imagining those perfectly-formed cones of white smoke issuing forth from soft and shiny, red lipstick-coated lips was enough to stiffen my plank, no matter where I was, or what I was doing!
Then, in my pornographic theater of the mind, for some reason I started to time my explosive orgasms to coincide specifically with the hot mental images of their casually-executed exhales.
So, here is where the “darker” aspects, of which I spoke earlier concerning my obsession, started to culminate. For me, it represents a turn toward a more erotic, more melodramatic and domineering mindset. For I was no longer content with just seeing these sexy women simply taking drags and blowing smoke precisely at the moment I came; although the images of their mouths in action were hot enough.
No. The movie became much more elaborate, more exaggerated.
I began seeing myself standing over them with my stiff organ positioned very close to their faces. They sat there, at first just passively, almost oblivious to the erection being manipulated so close. Then, at that precise, crucial moment, I’d time the first spurt of my orgasm to splash on their mouths and the cigarette while they took a drag. This was quickly followed by my cock ejaculating repeatedly onto their cheeks and against their softly pursed lips during a perfect naturally-streaming, smoke-filled exhale.
But wait; it gets darker.
It became more satisfying for me (much kinkier, intensely wanton and dirty) to imagine them suddenly being in total shock over the immorality of what was happening. The stressed expressions I’d see on their faces communicated the submissive, almost fearful anguish they would be feeling as my cum pelted and dripped obscenely from their pursed, smoke-blowing lips.
Well, that did it. Thanks to my vivid imagination, from that point in time forward I was never able to look at my aunts’ faces, my cousins’ faces, their friends’ faces, my sister’s face in the same way without seeing the frustrated byproduct of my lust dripping from their beautiful features.
But otherwise, albeit a bit dark, an innocent and sexy game of role-playing began to take shape in these “jerk-off movies” of mine. Something along the lines of a “teasing-leads-to-unplanned-sexual-aggressive-behavior/leads-to-retribution” plot spin now whirled through my fantasies.
That directorial maneuver intensified the experience ten fold for me as a young boy, and set a whole new era of movie-making into motion.
More to come…