Picking Up a Lost Habit

Picking Up A Lost Habit

Miranda understood why, after years of dropping the habit, she started smoking again. It was because of Ben, the gorgeous boy with sin in his smile. Ben had taunted her with a single cigarette after an intense and rather brash zipless fuck on Friday night. He laid into her like he was filling a peace pipe with ancient peyote, pummeling the earthen tobacco and magical herbs, weaving his spell of seduction and empty promises of commiseration and friendship beyond their initial encounter at the bar. Miranda gave in willingly to his winsome charm and his silly sense of humor, eventually inviting him over to her Westside pied-a-terre for a nightcap after enjoying his antics, wit, and company at the posh bar. It was there that she drank in the concoction of him, laced with flirtatious stolen kisses from his sweet lips and later, at her place and in her bed, salty, sex induced tears of passion and joy. He filled her up and smoked her and left her wanting more. 

The next morning Ben left a note in an almost incomprehensible script on the pillow next to her saying, "See ya again, beautiful" and a telephone number with a strange and distant area code attached. He also left, tauntingly, his pack of smokes on the bedside table. 
Miranda picked up the white and gold box, opened the flap and pulled one of the seven cigarettes inside out. It was long and stiff like Ben's hot prick. She put it gently between her lips, savoring the taste of the papered filter. She let it linger for a few moments, ready to indulge in the pending ecstasy of this pretty white thing. 
Miranda thought of last night's bittersweet events and of the game adults play with each other in the name of conquest. She felt like a fallen child, slightly wounded and left to sort out the pain after their fervent play. "Why does it always have to end up like this?" she thought. The warmth of another body in her bed for more than just one night was something Miranda ached for more than anything. And last night she thought she had possibly broken this supposed big city curse but again, without fail, she was wrong. Many thoughts swirled in her mind and the urge to break free from the seemingly endless cycle of loveless one-night stands took hold and grabbed her. In retaliation of these thoughts and with a devil-may-care flash of courage and attitude, she picked up the lighter and lit it. 

Inhale. In she took it, the bitter smoke traveled into her depths, filling her lungs as the blood rushed through her. The pleasure of the taste and the feel of it all carried her away to another place but only for a tender moment. 
Exhale. With ease she blew the smoke out, letting go of the heavy tension she held onto, letting go of the sweet memory of the fleeting Ben and of the lustful experience of last night.
Inhale. Miranda took in the smoke of the second puff and recounted last night's intense animal passion. Ben's touch, his lips, the weight of his body, the mass of his wholeness dancing inside of her emptiness, all of this swirled in her mind and tickled her lady day, making it twitch with remembrance and slick with moist memories. 
Exhale. With another gentle breath, she let the experience of Ben leave her, still secretly longing for  another roll around in 350-count sateen sheets and one last impossible taste of his morning glory. Miranda stamped out the cigarette on the bedside table. It left a mark on it but she didn't care. It was a reminder of what had and could never be. Like that mark, the cigarette left a taste in her mouth, bitter and harsh which she secretly savored. 

She got up out of the bed, the scene of the crime as it were, and went to shower to begin another day in the big city. On the way to the bathroom, Miranda tossed the pack of smokes into her purse along with the lighter. 
"It's funny how I gave these up a long time ago, cigarettes. Funny how I did it was because of Dan; he never liked them, " she thought to herself, thinking back to her last real relationship those few short years ago. Even then, with Dan, the day that she quit smoking at his urging she knew the desire to smoke would come back. Miranda never imagined it would be because of a boy of a man with a tantalizing aroma of sex, candy, and tobacco about him. She may have picked up her old habit right where she lost it but today she gathered that this was the start of a different kind of day, full of new-found possibility, a pack of smokes and a new attitude, the start of a different kind of her.

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