While I wasn’t aware of the existence of a “smoking fetish” in the summer of 1998, it was all but a formality for me to get in touch with it as I was lusting for nicotine girls every day and making conscious efforts to see them in my daily routine.
Instigating this lust was my summer job as a mail carrier in my hometown, which produced this entry in my top-10 list involving a girl who worked at the gas station across the street from the post office. The post office had an exclusive account with this one full-service station, so the carriers always topped off their tanks here. Throughout the summer as I drove by this station several times a day, I found it intriguing that the primary daytime employees at the station included an older man in his 50’s or 60’s and a smokin’ hot short-haired 18-year-old blond who could usually be counted upon to wear short shorts and tight chest-hugging tanktops and/or spaghetti strap shirts.
It didn’t take long to realize that both of them were smokers, and at least twice a week I would drive by the station and see the blond puffing on a cigarette. About half of the time she was completely outside of the station, but the other half of the time, she would be carrying a conversation with either a customer or co-worker at the nonsmoking office, but would hold her “cigarette hand” just out the door, opening the door slightly to ingest a stiff drag of carcinogen-laced tobacco and then deposit the exhale out the door. It was wickedly hot to witness….and also nice to visit on Saturday when the blonde would work there with other part-time teenage girls, who were also apparently corrupted by blondie as they would routinely step out for smoke breaks as well.
But the pinnacle of my encounter with this girl didn’t even stem from a tobacco consumption sighting. When I went to fill up my tank one day, the older guy took my request, but beckoned his subordinate to do the dirty work. The blond nicotine fiend proceeded to fill up my gas tank….and then checked the oil, and washed and scrubbed the large front windshield on the postal jeep as I sat in the jeep relaxing and watching. Her scantily packaged feminine form shifted, wiggled, and gyrated only a couple feet in front of my eyes and she cleaned the jeep’s windshield….and even then when my fetish hadn’t completely risen above the surface, all I could think about is what a shame it was that that windshield was separating us lest I would be able to smell the wondrous aroma of tobacco that undoubtedly clung to what little bit of clothing draped her assets. Even so, I was sufficiently aroused having my sense of sight graced by this young lady’s presence even if my sense of smell wasn’t quite as lucky.