What started as a sexual fetish turned into an empowering resistance against society

Most people start smoking when they’re young. Usually because of peer pressure, or the need to fit in.

But every smoker has their own unique story of how and why they started.

I started smoking late in life. Around age 27. At first it was a sexual fetish. But it quickly became so much more. Let’s back up…

Growing up, the world was a different place. I still remember when you could smoke INSIDE restaurants, bars, and workplaces. When my family would go out for dinner, we’d ask to be seated in the non-smoking section. Not that it made much difference, the smoke permeated everything and everywhere.

We rejoiced as a family when new laws came in banning smoking from workplaces and restaurants.

But that didn’t save us when we visited my uncle, who smoked like a chimney. I remember one night as a child arriving back home doubled over feeling sick to my stomach from the smoke I’d inhaled. Our visits to my uncle’s home started becoming a bit more limited.

My Grandfather was worse though. He would come over to visit us, and my mom would provide him an ashtray, sitting at our own kitchen table he would puff away.

It was dirty, nasty, and it made me literally queasy.

Later, I would notice how arrogant and disrespectful most smokers were. Congregating right outside the doors to my college. I couldn’t get in without walking through their plums of smoke.

No judgement to those who chose to smoke, but it was their habit, not mine. Keep it away from me.

Society’s perceptions and acceptance of smoking was changing. It was no longer considered acceptable social behaviour.

And this started intriguing me.

It was the bad boys that smoked. In my brain, it was wrong to smoke. An act of defiance. And that made it kinda hot and sexy.

After getting dumped by my first real boyfriend, we’d been together for 5 years, a lot of things started getting messed up in my head.

I had also been a late bloomer in my coming of age. I hadn’t really dated through school, hadn’t had a lot of sexual experience. And hadn’t really experienced heartbreak. My brain went crazy for a while.

One of the results, I started finding smoking oddly hot. Sexually appealing. I started looking up porn of guys smoking. And it got me excited.

I wanted to try it.

I was so nervous. Was I actually going to do this? It was huge.

I went to a store I’d never really been to before. I wanted to be anonymous. What would the sales clerk think?

I had always been such a goodie-two-shoes. This was something bad. For me, it had a very similar adrenalin rush to what I suspect breaking the law would be. I was amped up and also super nervous.

I was doing something wrong, and it felt incredible.

I had no idea what I was doing. Couldn’t have been more awkward if I’d tried while trying to pick out my first ever pack of smokes.

I paid and hid the pack in my pocket as I rushed out the store door. What if I got caught?

I made my way back home. Went up to the room I was now using as my office. It had formally been my ex’s office when we were still living together.

I opened up the window so I could vent the smoke outside in a misguided thought process that somehow that would keep others from knowing what I was doing.

Misguided in two rather major ways;

Smoke doesn’t fully vent. It leaves a smell. Everywhere. It permeates everything.

I lived alone, who was I hiding from?

But I hid anyway. I shut the door. Opened the window, but kept the blinds down, and hid.

I opened up one of my favourite porn sites that focused on the smoking fetish.

I was so excited. Rock hard before the page even loaded.

And I lit my first cigarette. I had no idea how to smoke properly so it wasn’t really all that impressive. For example… you’re supposed to inhale. I basically sucked the smoke into my mouth. Very awkwardly.

The entire experience was awkward. But it was exciting as hell. I fumbled my way through completely turned on.

I was doing something wrong. Intentionally. And nobody could do or say a thing to stop me.

After my orgasm, my mind cleared of the sexual excitement. And I was left thinking about what I’d just done.

It was a rush. Doing something wrong.

It was empowering. For me, it wasn’t about fitting in. I didn’t fit in. I was pretty lonely in my youth and through my 20s.

Smoking was no longer a way to “fit in” anyway. It had become frowned upon and shunned.

For me, it was my rebellion.

I started off at about a pack and a half a year. Over time I wanted the high that came from doing something wrong more… so I started smoking more.

It had become my “fuck you” to society. “You don’t control me. I can do what I want”. Soon, when I was having a bad day, I’d have one when I got home.

Then before I left for home.

Then during the day.

Then all the time.

All the while… my screw you society. You can’t beat me.

By then… I was a full time pack-a-day smoker. Addicted to the rush and the high. Not the nicotine… yet. And I loved every puff of it.

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Cover Photo: Luke Austin via Pintrest