Message-ID: <35159asstr$1013256612@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: PJcocoa@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Smokin' Hot Sex, Too {Gary Jordan}
Date: Sat,  9 Feb 2002 07:10:12 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Subj: Re: A sex story YOU have to write! 
Date: 1/22/02 12:36:18 AM Eastern Standard Time 
From: Alexis in Alaska
To: PJcocoa 


In a message dated 1/22/02 12:31:29 AM Eastern Standard Time, PJcocoa writes:

>Dear Alexis,
>
>I've told you all about how PJ and I tried to quit smoking by
>only having a cigarette after an orgasm.  How, outside of a
>humorous anecdote, the experience was a complete flop with regard
>to curing the nicotine habit.  I even said that there was no way
>you could get me to write a story about smoking and sex like the
>one Shon suggested, where some guy craves the after orgasm
>cigarette.
>
>I feel a little guilty.  Actually, I do have a story like that I
>could write, but there aren't enough details.  Everything I know
>about the story is second hand (a second-hand smoking story - I
>should get an award for terrible jokes) and I'd have to make up a
>lot of details.  I know, I know - writers make things up all the
>time, it's part of our stock-in-trade.  But see, this is all
>based on a true story.
>
>Why is that a problem, you ask?  Well, I guess I'm just not that
>good a writer.  Every story I write has some element of personal
>experience in it, no matter how outlandish the story as a whole. 
>But this would be a story about two people who, although they
>were friends and he was a shipmate, were intimate strangers.  All
>the details that would make this a good sex story are limited to
>the kinds of things one bud tells another over a beer, or
>confides while the womenfolk are out shopping and we're watching
>a ballgame.
>
>Maybe I could give you some of the details and you or Shon could
>take a swing at it. 
>
>First, there's the couple.  Let's call them Jack and Jill.  Take
>your finger out of your mouth and stop making retching noises;
>it's just something to call them.  No real names, I don't want to
>be sued over this.
>
>Jack was a chief in another division; never mind which one.  He
>stood about six feet, neither overly muscled nor fat, but not a
>beanpole by any means.  Dark hair, no glasses.  
>
>Jill was taller than PJ, and more slender.  I'd have to say her
>eyes were blue, mostly because if I said violet then any member
>of that ship's crew would be able to put one and one together and
>know exactly whom I was talking about without another detail.  I
>won't go into details like boob size or hips, because I hate
>stories that talk about "her 34C chest" or her "38DD tits", and
>anyway, how should I know?  The closest I ever came to seeing
>them personally was at the beach in a teeny-weeny bikini, and
>*that* event meant I had to deal with the "Do you like Jill's
>boobs more than mine?" question later at home.
>
>Make Jill a blonde, too, because strawberry blonde is as
>revealing to her identity as violet eyes.  Even changing her eye
>color wouldn't conceal her identity if that weren't changed.
>Maybe you should make up your own details, but in fairness to
>Jill, whatever you describe has to make her as stacked in fiction
>as she was in real life.
>
>How Jack and Jill got involved in this whole story was that Jill
>was at the meeting of the wives' club when I called home from
>that first Monday training lunch, looking for a nooner and having
>PJ suggest I provide my own orgasm so I could drink and smoke
>with the guys.  Jill overheard enough of PJ's solution to make
>her very curious.  She stayed after the meeting to help clean up
>and pry for details.
>
>Jack didn't smoke.  Somehow he'd managed never to pick up that
>nasty habit in fourteen years of Naval service.  Jill, on the
>other hand, had a half-a-pack-a-day habit.  As I recall, that was
>the only bone between them.  They were an almost-perfect couple,
>except for his (very) slight tendency to nag when she lit up.
>(Can you tell I'm a smoker?  The problem was the nagging, not the
>lighting up. <VBG>)
>
>PJ confided the details of the substitution therapy to Jill after
>the meeting, along with the successes and failures to that point.
>Of course, she swore her to secrecy, except for Jack, and made
>her promise to extract the same oath from Jack.  When I got home
>that day (and I hope you remember how memorable *that* was) PJ
>didn't tell me a thing about it.
>
>I was still ignorant two days later when Jill shows up at the
>Off-crew Office to pick up Jack, around 14:00.  I'm the Duty
>Chief that day, so I don't get to go home until 17:00, and I have
>to stay available by the phone to handle emergencies.  Jill takes
>Jack's arm and distinctly says, "God, I'm dying for a cigarette."
>Jack's head whips around and we make eye contact.  He blushes.
>Jill looks to see why he's blushing and sees me.  She blushes.  I
>suddenly realize I'm holding a catless bag, and I blush.  They
>get to hastily depart, leaving me holding the bag, and wondering
>who let the cat out.  Obviously, since it isn't me, it has to be
>my wife.  
>
>I get PJ on the phone and relate the incident, which elicits a
>full confession and the unwanted knowledge that Jack and Jill are
>now in the same two-step program.  After I'm done laughing, I
>warn PJ that she'd better delay any dinner plans.  I'm having a
>nicotine fit and I've got the, to put it politely, raging hard-on
>to prove it.  I have three more hours, barring emergencies,
>before I can come home for a home coming celebration. 
>
>And that's when PJ reminds me we have company for dinner.  That
>reminder isn't bad enough, she goes on to remind me who it is:
>Yep, you guessed it, Jack and Jill.  As if what happened before I
>called wasn't embarrassing enough (although much less so once I
>realized that they weren't blushing about *my* needs), now I
>could look forward to sharing an evening with a couple that knew
>what was going on.
>
>There were no emergencies.  I locked up the office, signed out
>with the SUBGRUTWO duty officer, and raced home.  PJ met me at
>the door with a big kiss and the news that our company was
>already there.  What could I do?  I changed out of uniform and
>went out back to fire up the grill.  Jack joined me while the
>wives chatted in the kitchen.  He was carrying two open beers.
>
>I accepted mine and set it on the picnic table without taking a
>swig first.  Do you remember when I explained that no way could I
>drink a beer without smoking?  Jack, being a non-smoker, didn't
>have that problem, and I didn't know how to explain it to him.  
>
>I must have blushed or something.  He looked at the beer and
>started laughing.  "I'm sorry," he says.  "I wasn't thinking
>about, you-know, when I grabbed the beers."
>
>I don't know whether to be relieved or mortified, but the former
>is a lot easier, so I joined the laugh.  I caught a glimpse of
>faces at the window and we heard giggling from that direction as
>well.
>
>"So how's your, uh, program working out so far?"  He's got a huge
>grin on his face, and why shouldn't he?  He's not the one
>struggling with nicotine fit and dinner guests.
>
>"I guess I can't complain," I lie.  "Although I could sure use a
>cigarette about now."
>
>He holds up one hand.  "No thanks, I'm not that kind of guy."  We
>break up again.
>
>"A better question might be how you and Jill are coping.
>Truthfully, what did you think when she told you about us and
>said she wanted to try to quit?"
>
>"Truthfully?  I thought it was the weirdest thing I'd ever heard
>of."  He took a pull on his beer. "But I agreed to try.  I've
>been after Jill to quit smoking for years."  He glanced at the
>window and turned back to me, his face growing more serious.
>"We've been married since before I joined the Navy, fifteen
>years.  Our love life has slowed down, just like anyone's.  Once
>a night would have been a dream come true."
>
>"Jill gets by on just one cigarette a day?" I asked, surprised.
>
>He shook his grinning face in a very happy negative, and held up
>three fingers.  "Sometimes four."
>
>We broke up again.
>
>"I saw that!" came Jill's voice, as the ladies opened the sliding
>glass door and brought out the steaks and covered bowls.  They
>were laughing, too.  "Are you giving away all our secrets?"
>
>"Congratulations, Jill!  Jack tells me you're down to just three
>or four cigarettes per day."
>
>She turned crimson and looked at Jack.  "More like six or seven,
>but thanks."
>
>I clapped Jack on the shoulder and said "You old dog!  I didn't
>know you had it in you."  And then I noticed the expression on
>his face.  He didn't have it in him.  Oops.
>
>PJ piped up, "I'm afraid I told Jill about the loophole we
>found."
>
>Jack had gone from astonishment to the beginnings of rage when
>Jill had corrected the number of cigarettes she was consuming.
>It was fairly obvious that he wasn't aware of the alternatives.
>I said, "So you're a solitary smoker, Jill?"
>
>I think if she could turn any redder, they'd have to name a color
>after it.  She nodded and looked sheepish (are there any red
>sheep?).  In a little voice, she said, "Sometimes a girl's got to
>sneak off to the ladies room and have a cigarette, you know?"
>
>Jack finally twigged to what was going on and his building anger
>released as amused chagrin and snorting, choking sputters.
>
>PJ and I were less restrained.  We guffawed.  That's the only
>word for it.  We'd been there.  We'd done that.  We'd used the
>tee shirt to wipe up the mess.  I handed my beer to Jill.
>
>She shook her head.  "I'd better not."  
>
>"Why not?  He," I hooked a thumb at Jack, "offered it to *me*."
>I turned away to put the steaks on the grill while everyone else
>giggled and snickered and generally behaved in as sophomoric a
>fashion as four purported adults could.
>
>"Gary," PJ got my attention, "Jill and I have been talking and
>Jill asked me to ask you to tell Jack about Monday afternoon, if
>it wouldn't be too embarrassing.  We'll just go back inside for
>the plates and stuff."
>
>"What about Monday afternoon?"  Jack asked.  I wasn't given the
>chance to say no, so I thought about how best to answer.  After
>all, Jack had just learned that Jill masturbated when he wasn't
>available.
>
>I flipped the steaks, a delaying tactic.  "How do you want yours
>done?"
>
>"Pink in the middle," he replies, waiting for the answer to *his*
>question.
>
>"You like to eat it pink in the middle?"  God, I do love a good
>straight line.
>
>"Yeah, I always eat it pink in the middle."  My question and my
>grin are confusing the hell out of Jack.
>
>"What PJ says Jill wants me to tell you is, 'Eat it pink in the
>middle more often,' I think." I'm not holding a straight face -
>It's all I can do to stand up.  I want to be rolling around
>holding my sides.
>
>Jack looks so confused.  Then the light finally comes on.  "Oh,"
>he says.  "OHHhhh."  He drops his red face into his hands and
>gets smacked by a beer bottle.  I lose it.  I'm laughing so hard
>I've got tears in my eyes and the only thing keeping me upright
>is the fact that I've got to get the steaks off the grill before
>they're overcooked.
>
>The wives come back out with plates, flatware, glasses and a
>pitcher of iced tea, and questioning looks.  PJ asks, "Did you
>discuss it with him?"
>
>"Not exactly," I laugh.  "I think he understands what I was
>supposed to bring up, but we haven't gotten around to any actual
>discussion yet."
>
>"What did he say?" Jill asks her husband.  
>
>Still looking at the ground, Jack told her, "He asked me how I
>like my steak."
>
>"Huh?"  Now Jill is confused.
>
>He watches her over the tips of his nested fingers.  "I told him
>I liked to eat it pink in the middle."
>
>PJ shrieked.  Jill's hue matched Jack's.  With the steaks safely
>off the main flame, I indulge in a little "rolling on ground,
>laughing my ass off".  The expression won't be popular on the
>Internet - hell, there won't be an Internet, as we know it, for
>another 10 or 15 years, but the activity is a lot older.  So is
>the one that caused all the mirth and discomfiture.
>
>Between the four of us, we managed to dish macaroni salad, baked
>beans, and steaks onto plates and plates in front of people.
>Things settle down some as we all dig in and take the edge off at
>least one hunger.  There's the usual round of compliments.  I
>can't claim to own any of them since PJ had the steaks marinating
>overnight and all I had to do was sear both sides.  Jill made the
>beans with honey and barbeque sauce and bacon; PJ's macaroni
>salad was up to her usual standards.
>
>The steaks on PJ's plate and mine were on the small side (I know
>I mentioned this side effect in my previous e-mail) and Jack
>commented on it.  Aboard ship I had a number of nicknames, one of
>which was "the slider king."  What's a slider, you ask?  That's
>what we call a greasy beef patty fried on the ship's flat grill. 
>It's all beef, but probably started as "no less than 70% lean,"
>or whatever the term is for high fat content.  I like beef.  I
>love beef.  I'd been known to polish off two double quarter pound
>cheese sliders in a sitting.
>
>Anyway, Jack noticed and started joking about my reputation being
>in jeopardy, and kidding PJ about starving me.  "Oh, I'll
>probably eat something later," I responded, waggling my eyebrows
>at PJ.  She blushed and Jill kittened her tea. (There's another
>Internet expression.  When you write this up, be sure and edit
>that out and substitute "spewing" or "spit up" or something.)  
>
>Remembering and recounting this episode makes it look like
>there's about to be an orgy, or wife swapping, or something like
>that about to happen.  It wasn't that way at all.  We were like
>any pair of semi-adjusted couples - a lot of our banter included
>sexual innuendo, joking and teasing.  It only seemed more charged
>on that occasion because everything seemed more, I don't know,
>*imminent*. Everyone there knew that the moment this dinner party
>broke up, sex would rear its head.  It wasn't speculation; it was
>certainty.
>
>We reached the stage where we would normally lean back in our
>seats and light up an after-dinner cigarette, and you could see
>the discomfort, the need, the *urgency* on three out of four
>faces.  Even Jack's look showed understanding for Jill's needs,
>and it looked like our get-together might get-apart rather
>abruptly.
>
>PJ spilled a glass of tea on herself.
>
>"Damn," she said, but she was grinning. "I guess I'd better
>change."  She turned to me.  "Sweetheart, could you come to our
>room and help me pick out something to wear?"  I swear she batted
>her eyelashes. She turned to Jill and said, "I haven't a *thing*
>to wear, so it might take us a while.  Will you and Jack be able
>to keep yourselves amused until I find what I need?"
>
>Jill looked at Jack with a look that... Hell, Alexis, you're
>better with words than I am.  You know that look that makes a
>mouse stand still while a snake is getting closer?  That's the
>one.  Make sure you describe that when you tell this.  I remember
>that I almost couldn't move and she wasn't looking at me.  It had
>nothing to do with the fact that PJ's suggestion had made it
>difficult for me to stand upright; that look was predatory, and
>sexual, and I envied and pitied Jack at the same time.
>
>We all got up and went inside.  PJ led/pulled me to our room and
>we "got busy." Clothes flew everywhere.  It was fast and furious
>and I think half the charge was knowing that the same thing was
>happening someplace close by.  I hardly lasted any time at all,
>but I didn't feel guilt for making PJ earn her own cigarette by
>going down on her.  I don't think it was coincidence that she
>came when she heard Jill wailing somewhere down the hall.
>
>We cleaned up and dressed and took our time returning to the
>picnic table.  The J-couple was already there, and Jill had an
>unlit Salem between her fingers.  I was carrying a Marlboro and
>PJ a Salem Light 100 and a lighter.  We all lit up together
>(except Jack, of course, who just looked on with a shit-eating
>grin.)
>
>It isn't easy making eye contact after something like that.  When
>you do, there's an uncontrollable urge to giggle and blush, so
>that's what we all did until the last butt was stubbed out.  The
>ladies cleared the picnic table and Jack and I went and doused
>the fire in the grill and hosed off the patio.  While we
>puttered, he asked me quietly about our earlier topic.  He
>admitted that he had only tried it a few times and Jill never
>seemed to get into it, so it wasn't something he was comfortable
>with.
>
>I asked him, "Are you put off by it?  I mean, does the taste or
>smell gross you out?"  He shook his head. "Is there something
>about it that turns you off?"
>
>"No, that isn't it." He sighed.  "I guess I'm just not any good
>at it.  She never asked for it before, and the few times that we
>tried early on didn't seem like they did anything for her."
>
>"We had the same problem," I confessed.  "Some people have
>natural talent.  We had to work at it.  I had to convince PJ to
>tell me what to do.  Once she finally started talking, I couldn't
>shut her up, and I didn't want to.  She let me know what felt
>good and what worked, and what didn't.  You just have to convince
>Jill to talk, too."
>
>Jack was a few years older than me and married longer, too.  The
>absurdity of giving him marital counseling didn't strike me until
>after they left that evening.  After the silliness left, it
>definitely puffed up my ego.  At any rate, we'd seen PJ's
>therapist and called off the whole "orgasms for cigarettes" thing
>before I had another chance to talk more than casually with Jack
>again. I think we were avoiding each other.
>
>Anyway, we were both in the office checking guard mail and
>classroom assignments and I casually asked how Jill's quitting
>smoking was going.  He got this expression on his face.  I guess
>you'd call it wry, or bemused, or some combination.  He answered,
>"Well, since I took your advice, she's down to a pack-a-day."
>
>Anyway, Alexis, that's the story.  And it's all true (give or
>take a lie or two.)  Do you think you or Shon can turn it into
>something worth reading?  I'm sure that someone with your talent
>won't keep changing between past and present tense.
>
>Sincerely,
>Gary

>P.S. Do you prefer "by Gary Jordan and Alexis Siefert", or "by 
>Gary Jordan with Alexis Siefert" or do you (oh inspiring one) 
>want first billing.  This and its antecedent are ALL YOUR FAULT.
>I can't blame Denny for either one.


Oh, goodness gracious no.  Not at all.

The steak should be "Hot, but pink in the middle."
Other than that, run with it!

Alexis


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