My head felt loose, like it could fall back but there would be a giant pool of cotton candy to catch it.
I inhaled again. The fruity, romantic flavor of the medium cigar in my hand colored my face with coolness. Something about cigars–I was breathing in more than just crisply burning tobacco, I was breathing in a sort of confidence that came with feeling like a bit of a badass.
John had turned eighteen last week, and we’d promised to celebrate in some way. Alcohol is not really his thing, so we made our way down to Uptown Smoke Shop to fancy ourselves a couple cigars and a short-lasting game of chess–wasn’t long before we gave up on comparing ourselves to the mature and sophisticated demeanor of the older men that populated the joint and escaped to a new location.
They wore shirts like Charlie Sheen, and when they smoked, their faces barely changed–eyes remained partially closed as their lips kept a pinched kiss. Unlike me, my eyes seem to get a little wider when I inhaled, and it wasn’t hard to spot the clear lack of experience giving life to my eyebrows.
The park was empty that night. It had to be late, because the stars were out, and it was lightly raining. We rested ourselves on top of the worn-out blanket I always kept in the car, and laid as the sprinkling rain dampened our clothes.
After our second smoke, his kisses tasted of warm tobacco and citrus, and his skin smelled of cocoa butter and Old Spice. His hands caressed my body, and it seemed as though my clothes felt thinner and thinner as he smoothed himself over me. His kisses undressed me, and it wasn’t long before the rain was drizzling on my face and breasts as he pleasured me.
After, we laid there naked laughing. I’ll never forget how incredibly quickly the colliding of cigars, the rain, and our bodies allowed that moment to consume us.