New Story

THE AFFAIR
By Doc Walton


They were both married, she to a rising star in the architectural world and he to a head turning, willowy beauty, but they had been friends before their marriages and remained so now, some years later. Circumstance, call it fate if you are of a mind to dramatize, had dictated that she would join her husband’s firm to see to the financial end and he would be brought in to handle reprographics and generally be of use wherever he could. It became their custom, having long been friends, to lunch together on those days when her husband was away soliciting new business or solidifying old. As the company was moving steadily towards success, this was more often than not and the lunches became an automatic, a habit, a thing so commonplace that it felt odd when her husband was there to join them. At first, these mid-workday breaks were merely an opportunity for people who enjoyed each other’s company to spend time together, talk work, other people, movies and all the standard lunch time fare, but as the days passed inexorably by, a growing intimacy between the two was apparent to anyone who cared to notice. It was perhaps not inevitable, but certainly probable, that some sort of deeper connection would have to take place.

There came then, a moment - again, fate if you will - when both she and he were emotionally at risk. The world had been presented with incontrovertible proof that smoking was a serious hazard to health and the two, long time smokers, vowed to quit once and for all. Those of you who have wrestled with nicotine withdrawal will understand how vulnerable people can be at such a time.

They continued to meet for lunch as usual, that would not change, but the aspect of the hour spent was curiously altered. They talked less, ate more and faster, and had leftover time at the end of the meal to lift their heads from their plates and look across the table at each other with no excuse to look away. It was precisely then, at this eye locking moment, that the affair began. Idle talk turned to curious, more probing questions and small bits of personal histories were disclosed. With each new disclosure an intimacy unrecognized earlier became clearer to both and they were soon leaning across the table talking softer and staring more intently at each other. When rising tensions got too much for one or the other to bear, they would break them by leaning back, laughing gently and declaring, “God I wish I had a cigarette.” Some form of “me too” was always the answer.

And then one day it happened. At meal’s end he pushed his plate away, turned to the smokers at a neighboring table and asked “could I bum a couple of those?” Two minutes later – there was a short discussion of should they or shouldn’t they with a resounding conclusion of “yes, definitely yes” - they were lighting up and both knew there would be no going back.

This “thing” whatever its nature, was serious now and it felt exciting, illicit, somehow dirty and it was their secret. They promised to meet for lunch on the morrow and they could hardly wait. That first cigarette, that exquisite surrender to the moment cigarette, had tasted fine and wonderful, but it had left much to be desired. It was, after all, only foreplay.

They chose their restaurants more carefully after that, selecting those a bit further out where the possibilities of meeting colleagues were fewer. Discovery would be unthinkable. They brought their own now, first two, then three and finally four as they rushed through their meals to get to the delights beyond. Their first cigarettes were always hastily consumed, like eager lovers tearing away each other’s garments. There was an urgent rush to reach conclusion, a desperate need to extinguish longing. The smoke was thick and the ash burned hotly, each smoker taking their own pleasure selfishly. At its end there were sighs, a relaxation of taut muscles and usually laughter; two sinners giggling at their shared sin.

The next two cigarettes were clearly lovers at leisure, a part of a continuous whole. They were shared with conversation and thought, verbal caresses and deep imaginings. These were studied smokes with careful attention applied to each satisfying inhalation and full awareness of each exhalation which are nothing if not long visible sighs. The two sat apart, never touching, but there were kisses of a kind to be had as lip and tongue touched filter and strong embraces could be found in the smoke that entwined above them. There were uummms, and aaahhhhs and bits of impromptu laughter, all the sounds of physical love, consummated.

When they were finished, the butts and their fire extinguished in the tray, there was still one more cigarette to follow. This was most certainly the post coital, job well done smoke and it too had its guilty pleasure. It would be the last for that day and the inspiration for the next. When it was also snuffed and left behind, the contented pair would walk back to work, often hand in hand.


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I have made this next a separate part of the story so that the romantics among us can ignore it if they so choose and find their ending where it already lies.

Days would pass and circumstances would differ. The addiction that is cigarette smoking, no matter how you choose to fantasize it, will not allow a reduction to four a day for long. Soon, both she and he were smoking in earnest again and the thrill of their noontime affair waned and drifted away. Their secret, that they were smoking again, was no secret at all as they fired up throughout the day.

There is little magic in an after lunch smoke when it’s your tenth or twelfth of the day. They were still fast friends and always would be despite the ups and downs of any nearly life long relationship. Over the years, the “cigarette affair” would become part of their history and brought up as a cherished “do you remember when” moment. The word “intense” was then always applied … and so it was.

On a final note, both she and he eventually put their cigarette addiction behind them. He, though, still enjoys a fine cigar.


Doc Walton April, 2008