Thank You for Smoking

Why does the lingering smell of cigarette smoke on someone’s clothes kind of really turn me on?

I noticed this yesterday in my improv class.  After returning from a ten minute break, I noticed that distinct cigarette smell on the clothing of the scene partner to my left.  I instantly got excited.  Like, VERY instantly.  So instantly in fact that I surprised and startled myself.  So quickly that I almost didn’t know why I was getting so very aroused.

It just happened to me now.  I’m sitting in this awesomely semi-divey small Hollywood coffee shop and a man walked in and I caught waft of that divine tobacco scent.  I don’t know what this man looks/ed like because I didn’t look up from my computer.  It was not that type of arousal.  It was an arousal that I wanted to savor to myself…it was kind of the same way yesterday.  I kind of wanted to just sit here with it for a bit and take in as much as I could.

I was also a bit ashamed of this arousal.  Like when you are a pre-teen and something turns you on sexually and you don’t really know what it is but you enjoy it and want the experience to just keep on going on for as long as possible.

Yup, that’s what I feel like right now.  And sort of what I felt like yesterday.  I wanted to be alone yesterday–not performing.  I wanted to absorb that aroma.

What is all of this all about?  I don’t smoke.  Never have.  I mean, I’ve smoked cigarettes here and there to be rebellious, but never consistently.

I am so very athletic and health-conscious that the thought of smoking just cannot fit in at all with my lifestyle or even who I am as a person.  Well, I can be obsessive-compulsive, so I guess it could fit in there.  But, other than that and my recurring body-image issues, smoking is like speaking Chinese fluently tomorrow–so outlandishly absurd to me!

My mom and dad don’t now and have never smoked.  Ever.  My mom’s dad smoked when she was a child but I never knew my grandfather to smoke.  She said she made him quit when she was in high school.  He’s the only member of my family to have ever been a smoker.

I had friends in high school who smoked.  I didn’t like it though.  I drank a lot then and it was hard to avoid.

One of the first guys I ever fooled around with smoked.  I remember the taste on his breath when we made out.  I hated the smell, but somehow I LOVED and craved that taste on his breath.

I ‘dated’ (term used EXTREMELY loosely) a man who smoked when I first graduated college.  I felt the same way about his smoking.  Never liked the smell, but always the taste.

Since then, the only smoking I ever encounter comes on film sets.  There, everyone smokes.  Coffee and cigarettes are the most easy things to get your hands on on a film set.

Funny how right now I’m luxuriating in the smell of cigarettes and the taste of organic coffee–the two most common things one finds in the environment of my passion and desire–while I write this.

Is this all psychologically tied up together in my brain somewhere?  Am I basking in the glory of a scent that reminds me of a place I’d like to be?  Or am I nostalgically feeling my way back to my adolescent sexual discoveries and the gradual loss of my innocence…?  Is it all of these things combined?  Is it some addictive and/or rebellious gene that I have within me that craves that which will harm me?

Hmmmm…it may be all or none or one of these.  If I had to choose one, it would be the last of my own pondering suggestions.

But, I like the smokey mystery of not knowing the origin…

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About heathencomehome

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