Chapter One
“Don't you think its absolutely divine darling. Terribly, terribly Noel Coward.” This was said, in appropriately clipped tones, by a slender young man with tousled blonde hair and engagingly bright blue eyes to his rather more muscular, dark haired and tanned companion. There had been quite a few disappointed admirers when these two got it together earlier in the year.
“I knew it was a mistake to bring you here. Its a 70s party, dingbat.”
“But its just too too irresistible.”
Ben had known Keith would be in his element in a vintage clothing shop, but how typical that he'd find the oldest thing there. But he couldn't help smiling, Keith was glowing with excitement as he held up the garment for closer examination.
“You've already got a dressing gown.” A very short one, Ben had bought to show his legs.
“Philistine, this is a smoking jacket.”
“Like you need one of those.” Ben and Keith were nice boys, aside from a certain abandon in the bedroom, heath, sauna..., and didn't smoke.
“But its magnificent, pure silk, just feel it, it's exquisite.”
Ben duly felt the cloth, and despite himself was impressed, it felt like water, clinging to his hands.
“That'll feel so nice on, against bare skin. And anyway I'll catch my death in that negligée you got me.”
“That...” Ben sputtered, he was always defenceless against Keith's teasing.
“That negligee is delightful, perfect for when I'm feeling tarty, but sometimes one wants elegance.” he held up the smoking jacket, struck a pose and announced, “And its only twenty pounds. I'm having it.”
Only Ben thought, but he knew better than to argue with that tone.
“OK. But now can we look at jackets.”
“Of course,” Keith said, giving Ben a quick kiss and draping the shining blue and red smoking jacket over his arm. “Oh look.”
Of course it wasn't the leather jacket Ben was after.
“My god, what are they?”
“Loons.”
“Loons? They look like flares to me.”
“They are dear, deliciously big flares from the knee, but skin tight above.”
The magic of the words 'skin tight' had their usual effect. They were the softest well worn denim from the knee up, but joined by a v shaped seam to a purple denim spreading out to truly enormous flares. The 70s, so outrageous. Ben took the loons then got distracted. Finally, jackets, black leather a whole rack of them and...
“Oh yes, Oh yes.” He held up a black leather jacket, nicely worn looking, fringed on the chest and under arms, rows of studs in all the right places. “That's the one.”
“Put it on.”
As Ben slipped on the jacket he felt its heaviness, a close but comfortable fit. Sensuous, and there was a distinct, spicy smell to the jacket too.
“Wow.” Keith said, he always had the hots for Ben, but in the jacket, “Go on, try the pants.”
Skin tight was the word, but Keith was all smiles, they just felt so good, like they'd been made for him. Suddenly, as if by magic, the shop owner appeared.
“Shall I wrap them for you, sir?”
“What? Oh yes, thanks. Party you know, 70s.”
“Perhaps these shoes?”
The curious looking shop keeper offered up a pair of platform boots, green and purple, the purple. The shoes fitted too and as he looked at Ben in them, mentally adding the gross polyester Californian shirt and medallion they'd got earlier, Keith wondered if he might even out shine his own Ziggy Stardust recreation.
“Jealous?”
“Madly. The true 70s porn star look. Pray to god they don't have vintage underwear.”
“You kidding, in these,” he ran his hands over the clinging denim, “I'm going cammo. You can see the seams, right?”
“Darling, I'm not looking at the seams.”
And the bulge he was looking at grew just a little in appreciation.
A few minutes later the two lads emerged from the gloom of the shop on to the bright street each clutching parcels, actually wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. The weirdo who ran that shop was nothing if not authentic. And he had great stuff. They were going to knock 'em dead tomorrow night.
They had only a short walk to drop off their parcels at their flat. Of course separately they never have been able to afford one of those loft style places in the converted mill. It even had a balcony overlooking the river. Their friends joked that at 25 they were getting old, but there was envy too, though that was tempered considerably by the frequent parties, dinners, Sunday lunches. As Keith put it, if you've got it, flaunt it. Being a Friday they ate out, did the usual round of the bars in the gay quarter, gossiped, flirted a little, danced a lot and, feeling only a little bit like an old married couple, left the heave of bodies a little after midnight. Some time later they lay on the bed together. Keith's gaze lingering over Ben's body where, satisfied, he'd dropped as usual into deep sleep. Fascinated as always he admired the gleam of sweat on his lover's muscled back, enjoyed that special moment of peacefulness then carefully pulled the cover over him, got up and wandered into the open living room. The night breeze from the open windows cooled his skin. So nice to be cool again, still... The, with a smile he opened one of the brown paper parcels, took out the smoking jacket and slipped it on. It felt lovely, he heavy silk clinging. And so elegant, the mirror confirmed. He poured himself a brandy and added ice since it was such a warm night, then went out onto the balcony to enjoy the distant night sounds of the city, the light on the water. Letting the warmth and fragrance of the spirit linger in his mouth Keith was only aware his hand was running over the silk clinging to his thigh when its movement was interrupted. There was something in the pocket of the jacket. Curious. In the half dark he couldn't tell if it was silver or gold, it felt quite heavy but then he was no judge really. It certainly seemed quality though. Well, that was a bit of luck. Must be worth at least what he'd paid for the smoking jacket. How appropriate, a cigarette lighter. Could it be vintage 30s like the jacket? Idly he wondered how it might work, found the whole top flipped up. You couldn't see the join. So, that cylinder on the corner that fell under your thumb must... wow, it worked. In the light of the yellow flame he still couldn't tell if it was silver or gold. He did see the word, Dunhill, in a very Art Deco script, discretely under the lid. He flipped the lid back down with the faintest sound between a click and a clunk, then up again, flick and the flame, just under an inch high reappeared. He played with the lighter a few more times, finding it worked first time every time, then placed it by the brandy glass. Funny how you don't really think about words sometimes. Words like, smoking jacket, only now Keith felt a connection with an imagined original owner who wore this jacket for smoking cigarettes which he lit with that lighter. Could that be the origin of that slight lingering fragrance it had, something muskier than a cologne. Amazing. Of course, what would be absolutely amazing was if in the other pocket... Now Keith was feeling a wee bit spooked. He was almost certain in the shop that the pockets had been empty. He couldn't really have missed something like the silver cigarette case he now had in his hand could he? Though it was elegantly slim, slightly curved so it had fitted perfectly against his thigh. Like the lighter it had that slightly heavy solid feeling of quality. Small objects of desire. It had that quality, like a mobile phone, of being almost sensuous to hold. Part of that innocent age when smoking was glamorous. Feeling, as he secretly did from time to time, just a little like Fred Astaire Keith pressed the catch pretending to offer a cigarette to the Ginger Rogers of his dreams (who was quietly dreaming inside, or was it the other way round and he was Ginger). No, surely not. But there they were, six pristine white cigarettes in a row held under a narrow silver band. Somehow they looked old fashioned, but that was daft surely. A vintage cigarette case yes. Vintage cigarettes no. Still they were unfiltered and he thought uncertainly weren't they a little thicker than modern cigarettes. Anyway if they were 70 or 80 years old they must be absolutely desiccated. But a quick sniff revealed a fresh, rich, almost spicy aroma. Now Keith had tried smoking, once, out of curiosity. The Marlboro light he'd accepted from an acquaintance in a bar one drunken night had smelt a bit like this. Well, only a little. It hadn't smelt anything like as good. This was like the best artisan bakery bread compared to white sliced supermarket trash. Well, it was only natural, he told himself, to be curious. After all what harm could one cigarette be. He felt like he owed it to the jacket. After all it was a smoking jacket. So with just the slightest feeling of the forbidden Keith took one of the cigarettes from the case, toyed with it for a moment to get the right air of elegance he then picked up the lighter. By its light he could see clearly to bring the flame into place, he sucked gently, the tip of the cigarette glowed orange and he tasted the smoke. Wow, intense, rich. He let the smoke linger in his mouth a while. When he blew it out the smoke stood out clearly against the distant light. Goodness, that was actually quite nice. Of course cigarettes must have been much stronger in those days and maybe he shouldn't inhale but it had been so smooth. Tentatively he inhaled just a little. Oh, that's not bad, feels quite nice really, and the exhale looked much better. He certainly felt it too, a feeling, mostly in his head, that was both calming and a little bit exciting. Curiously he felt his cock stirring a bit against the smooth silk. Well there was a certain naughtiness to smoking like this. He wasn't sure Ben would understand but what the hell, might was well make the most of it. So he risked a longer drag, savoured the taste in his mouth again. It felt quite natural to inhale, the cool air pleasant as it followed the smoke into his lungs. He seemed to feel the smoke there, heavy but in a way nice and then he exhaled, the smoke looking even better in the night air as pleasure spread through his body, up into his head. And down to his dick, which twitched positively.
“Hmm, you like that then.” he said to himself as he idly stroked his bulge through the silk. Feeling his excitement rapidly rising he gazed a moment at the smoke curling up from the cigarette in his hand and realised he liked the feeling of smoking a cigarette like this. That one Marlboro light he'd tried seemed like a pale imitation, this was a real smoke, stronger yet smoother. Tempting. And he remembered Oscar's advice when faced with temptation. Yield. He brought up the cigarette again, opening the smoking jacket with his other hand. Dimly he was aware that, if he wasn't exactly high he was certainly out of it, under the influence, not longer thinking just going with the sensation. He hardly had to think about inhaling, just did what felt good. The smoke he exhaled down his belly and over his very hard dick seemed more plentiful. A firm stroke up the shaft of his cock pushed a bead of pre-cum from his slit which he spread with his thumb, feelings tingling up his spine. He breathed deeply, feeling how alive his body was to pleasure as he began stroking knowing he wanted to cum again. Leaning back and getting into the familiar pleasure building under his hand he took another drag, deliberately inhaling deeper, absorbing more, exhaling more powerfully, knowing how the pleasure would shoot through his body. The thought, 'God, I can see why this is addictive', passed through his mind raising his excitement so his cock was getting slick as he took another drag. And now the cigarette was hot in his fingers and he saw it was done. He flicked the glowing end over the rail and down into the river pumping his cock all the time. He didn't want to stop now. He'd never thought smoking would feel so hot. He even liked the lingering smell on his fingers. Playing now he picked up the cigarette case, pressed its cool metal against the underside of his balls. But then he began to feel it begin to slip away. Well he had cum once already, and less than half an hour ago. It was only smoking got him so horny. He could have another. He knew he probably shouldn't, but the way his dick responded to the thought told him he would. He delayed a little, mucking round, holding the unlit cigarette in the hand that was working his dick. Kind of getting off on the sight, but not so much as knowing he wanted to light it. To feel that feeling as he inhaled. So wrong, but he wanted it. Which only got him more excited as he swapped hands a moment to pick up the lighter, cigarette dangling from his lip. A pause as he lit up, inhaled and felt the sensation reclaim him. Giving into it he worked his dick on automatic while he concentrated on smoking, feeding his body and mind with smoke. Such an amazing feeling. 'Don't kid yourself, you know you want it', he'd tell himself before taking another drag, deeper than the one before. 'You know you can't resist it' he said to himself before inhaling so sharply his breath hissed the smoke deep into his lungs.
“Oh god, fuck it, you're a smoker.” he said out loud just as cum shot from his dick up onto his chest and face. As his deep panting breaths slowed he could feel his head literally buzzing from the two cigarettes he'd smoked. What an amazing feeling. And what an orgasm. Gradually he came back to earth. Slightly surprised he saw there was still three quarters of an inch of the cigarette left burning in his fingertips. The excitement fading it seemed really weird, and wrong, obviously. There was no way he was going to start smoking. Still, there were four left. Could do this a couple more times maybe. And with that thought he took a final drag and flicked the butt over the raid watching the tip spark till it hit the river. Then he wiped his chest, washed hands and face, cleaned his teeth and joined Ben in bed.
