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“Capnolognia” (smoking fetishism) is delved into from a personal perspective. Sexual hi-jinks and out-of-control fantasies abound as you are guided through the mind of a fastidious fetishist.

And so, dear reader; if smoking is not a “thing” for you—either in a sexually dynamic sense, or in any other sense—then I’d suggest you move on to some other story.

IMPORTANT NOTE TO READERS! – As an official disclaimer, it must be noted and strongly emphasized that no sexual relationships between underage individuals and adults—either consensual or non-consensual—actually take place within the descriptions and the general narrative of this literary work. As you read this story, you will come to realize that the brunt of what is being described deals with fantasy, but mostly with the psychological development of this human’s mind on the subject of sex.

What you are about to read is a self-confessional/self-psychoanalytical short story—an autobiography of sorts—which attempts to explain the development and nature of what I consider to be an unreasonable and inconvenient obsession, yes; but, nevertheless, one that is all consuming and extremely exciting to me. My intent is to trace its history and causality in my life, and to just “talk it out,” in more words than are probably needed. So, my apologies if I become verbose.


So, with the idea of you just listening to me as I talk this thing out; let’s role-play during your reading of this exposé; shall we?

Imagine, if you will, you are a psychoanalyst; my psychoanalyst.

There we are, doctor and patient, nestled within the clinical seclusion of your tastefully-decorated, mahogany-paneled office. You’re sitting confidently in the stereotypical overstuffed chair; your legs crossed comfortably, and a pad and pencil held in your hands.

And there I am next to you, appearing nervous and a bit tense; my body reclining on an equally iconic leather couch—legs crossed, hands clasped over my stomach, my head rigidly settled back on the leather pillow as I stare up at the ornate ceiling. And then we begin…


Part 1 — Mind F**K and Noir

So, what-da-heck is up with me and this stupid smoking fetish thing of mine; huh?

Let me attempt an explanation…

Well, to begin with, I was brought up in the midst of what I consider to be a golden era; during the early 1960s. Many factors were at play which made it an indescribably steamy time, sexually speaking.

For the sake of background historical context, allow me to describe certain aspects of society within that epoch which had an indirect, and in some sense, a direct impact on the development of this unconventional obsession.


It must be stated that these were the waning days of American society’s ongoing sexual repression period; an era of paradigm shift. They were the days of racy innuendo, and the days of fear, thanks partly to the post-WWII red hysteria, and right-wing religious/political over-reach; all being promoted through a fearful, complicit media.

Also noteworthy within this mix of societal thought control and attitude adjustment would be the atmosphere bursa escort in which Hollywood films were being produced. While scrutinizing this changing period in pop-cultural history, one would have to consider the on-going repercussions perpetuated by the Motion Picture Production Code, famously known as the “Hays Code”; an enforced “standards code” which boiled down to the industry’s fear-laced attempt at self-censorship. I’m mention the latter point because what was transpiring in motion picture arts played a role in my mindset and within the evolution of this personal fetish.

Now, certainly, early television—an industry also being pressured by the same political and religious activism—had its own “standards policing” movement, and it is equally worth noting. And, of course, the fearful motivation for both the television and film industries involved profits, or more succinctly, the loss thereof. But, let’s turn our attention away from the officiousness going on behind that 13 inch screen and continue focusing on the theater’s wide silver screen.

The Hays Code was a set of so-called “guidelines” named after Will H. Hays, who for a time was the head of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) and who was also a former chairman of the Republican National Committee (RNC). The code was officially adopted in 1930, but wasn’t put into full practice until 1934. From that point on, it arguably held sway over every aspect of artistic expression within American films well into the 1960s. Although its stranglehold was most notably challenged by director Otto Preminger in 1953 with the release of the film “The Moon is Blue” and later through the release of his sexually explicit film (explicit for the time) “Anatomy of a Murder” in 1959, the code’s official authority lasted until 1968.

There will be more to come on this subject later. But, I’d like to get a little farther into the weeds concerning this influential time period. “What does all of this have to do with my sexual appetites and my state of mind?” you might ask. Plenty! Its all about “mind fucking,” baby! So, let me assure you of this trip’s necessity. There is a point to all of this explanation.

During my coming of age, undaunted, paranoiac voices resonating from those occupying higher seats of political, corporate and religious power continued their fight in a cause which they saw as being righteous. Does any of this sound familiar, modern folk? They viewed their struggle as a holy war, as a battle; their enemies being those whom they saw as actively promoting the ‘perversion of the American mind.’ Their influence—the ideology behind it motivated mostly by business interests and for profits—was strong, pervasive and seemingly effective. Through legislation, and with the help of media saturation, the campaign to hold human thought in check was in full swing all through the 1950s and early 60s here in the States.

Thankfully however, at the same instance, great sociopolitical changes were in the works. A push-back was underway; a push back, which incidentally, most of these same business interests would later try to co-opt as counter cultural ethos progressed into the realm of pop-culture.

If there is one lesson to be learned, one take-away, one you can “take to the bursa escort bayan bank,” as it were, when it comes to understanding the attitudes of the vested interests in any day and age, it is this: Nothing is really ‘sacred’ to the oligarchical class. “Norms” and “mores” are malleable, so long as an opportunity exists to exploit for profits. As an example; the well-known dangers of smoking itself—information documenting the heath risks involved—were outright denied and then, actively suppressed by business interests for the longest time. I could easily discuss many comparisons to similar ‘doings’ happening within our present-day landscape, but I’ll leave it to you to do your own research and to draw your own conclusions.

But, getting back to the mid-20th-century sexual repression period; as I said, a sociopolitical push-back was gaining ground. These grass root changes—happening if not partially in response to the massive over-reach of the paranoiacs through past decades—were transpiring despite all efforts to quash them. Yes, a budding modern counter culture was coming into its own; one sparking somewhat of a Neo-Renaissance, an awakening, an enlightenment to arise. The Beat culture, with all of its beautiful free thought and fearless experimentation, was making its presence known; its influence eventually touching all parts of society.

Aside from shifts in political directions, revolutionary philosophies, modes of reflective consciousness and intellectualism, avant-garde movements within art, music and fashion, were flowering and becoming more prevalent. Through a great and inspired movement, civil rights were finally coming to the forefront, as well. The bigotry, xenophobia, and cultural closed mindedness of the past were drastically being challenged. The much-needed “shake-up” was underway bringing with it a promise that the societal playing field may finally be made more level for all citizenry.

Along with all of these changes came the sexual revolution. So, blatant misogyny was becoming unacceptable. But, be that as it may—and as alluded to earlier—for most of us here in the US, the 1950s into the very early 1960s constituted a sexually stymied age; a time of psychological ‘mind fuck.’ And, because of censorship, propaganda and the neuroses both generated, it was a period of time made steamier for all of us by the mere implication of sex. So, you see, all of their psychological browbeating worked in reverse.

As a young boy, this was also a period of time made hotter for me due to the fact that most women (well, at least most of the women I knew) smoked, and smoked very fervently! It was during this era when all sorts of advertising—both in print media and broadcast media, not to mention motion pictures—was liberally peppered with subliminally, if not blatantly suggestive images of women smoking. These little seemingly innocent, yet highly sexual scenarios and vignettes were working themselves out—spinning their intoxicating, persuasive, pleasure-filled romance—up there for all to see, on the big screens, the little screens, on billboards, and within the pages of magazines and newspapers.

And, partly due to all of that, the psychological connection between the sight of women smoking and sexual release was established quite early for me. escort bursa This link between cigarettes and sex goes as far back as I can recall. Many years before the term “smoking fetish” was ever coined—or at the very least, before it was popularly used—the sight of women smoking aroused the beast within me. I cannot pinpoint with any degree of accuracy when this obsession began. But I can tell you that it is firmly-rooted, and to this day, still very strong.

I mean, doctor!…Can you blame me? I was surrounded by innuendo!

Yes indeed; I’ve had this obsession seemingly forever, and it has always had a profound effect on me. Fortunately, I’ve managed to gain some control over its intensity through the years. Or, I should say that at least I am more adept at masking my arousal these days. You know?…putting on the impassive face? But, in my youth, I would imagine that I must have appeared to others as being somewhat of an open book. I know my excitement was much more difficult to contain. I spent an abundance of time in the bathroom, standing over the toilet “working things out.”

While I was developing this obsession, the image of women lighting up, followed by the look and sound of pop inhales as these exciting females took deep lung-expanding drags, and especially the beautifully arousing vision of their faces as they exhaled smoke in tight pleasure-laced-totally-natural streams, never failed to pitch my tent, and pitch it big! Whether it was happening on TV, in movies, or in the flesh, the sight made for demanding boners.

And both then and now, the scent of fully-inhaled smoke after exiting a woman’s body—that tantalizing aroma of exhaled smoke, when the smoke’s fragrant make up has been altered due to interaction with lung tissue—is nothing less than heaven to me. Most may rancorously call it “second-hand” smoke, and with just cause. It is a bona fide, legitimate health concern. But to my taste, it is an aphrodisiac, and I am more than willing to brave the risk! Like rare, exotic, highly-arousing perfume, its fragrance is utterly irresistible.

Where media was concerned; even when this “innocent” act was shown in a not-so-innocent way (or I should say ‘especially’ when it was presented in that fashion) it weaved its magic spell for me. Do you know what I mean? I’ll try to explain.

It was during those instances when they chose to depict women playfully teasing men—using their cigarettes as props, while at the same time employing their smoking mannerisms with the intention of arousing and titillating—which would most inflame my libido.

As an important factor; there’s no denying the strong role the movie genre “film noir” played in the early developmental stages of this sexual obsession. The provocative look I would notice brewing in many a sexy femme fatales’ eyes—those hot cinematic moments when these so-called “loose” women were frequently shown naughtily blowing smoke into a man’s face—had a devastating effect upon me! As a matter of fact, it still drives me insane (…just a figure of speech, doc; sorry)!

Yep…That sort of thing never fails to erect a granite-like statue in my pants. I guess that latter aforementioned element—the not-so-innocent portrayals of sexy “bad girls” smoking—is part of what shaped the “darker” facet of my fetish. I’ll describe what I meant by “darker” in greater detail, a little later.


—End of session—

So, am I a raving lune or what, doctor?

How much do I owe you?

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