The Quitter

I sat on the cabin’s rickety porch, looked out at the rain coming down in sheets, and jonesed for a cigarette.  Two days into my self-imposed detox exile, I was pretty confident that my third attempt to quit smoking was going to end in failure.

Both previous attempts to quit had been played out in urban environments where 24hr convenience stores are just far too ubiquitous.  The third time, I had resolved to wean myself off the demon weed in the middle of nowhere.

72 hours, my doctor swore, is all it took to completely cleanse the nicotine out of your body.  So, although I was the very opposite of an outdoorsy individual, there I was, sleepless at three in the morning, sitting in a diabolically quaint, hand-made rocking chair, getting splinters in my ass cheeks. I was cold, half-insane and fantasizing about biting the heads off small warm-blooded animals when he sauntered by.

Yes. He sauntered.  In the middle of a rainstorm, in a stretch of virgin forest beside Lake Williams, at three in the morning. He sauntered by, right down the path that led to the cabin, like he owned the place.

“Hey, you! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He stopped and turned towards me. His dark hair was plastered to his face. The sweatshirt and jogging pants he wore were so drenched they were stuck to his body.

“Who are you?” he called through the downpour.

“Don’t ‘who are you’ me, asshole. Who the fuck are you?” I’ve always been ripe-mouthed, but the lack of nicotine made it much worse. And for no logical reason, my withdrawal symptoms had taken on a manic, territorial aspect.

“I own the place. Who are you?”

That brought me up a little short and explained why he was walking around as if he did. But rationality wasn’t getting in my way. I stood up, wrapped the grungy couch throw around myself and glowered at him. “I rent the place.”

He straightened a little and pushed his hands into his wet pant pockets. It made the whole garment sag. “I didn’t realize I was renting to an grouchy insomniac.”

It was his tone. It had an undercurrent of such easy good humour, it made my teeth itch.

“I’m not an insomniac, fuckhead. I’m a…” I paused, the combativeness suddenly evaporated.  “Do you have a cigarette?”

The grass squelched jello-like beneath his sneakers as he strolled over to the front of the cabin. In the glare of the porchlight he looked like a drowned corpse. His skin took on a greenish tinge; his lips were almost cyanotic. My paranoia was on overdrive. Zombie.

“Not an inch closer, asshole.”

He took a pace back and held up his hands. “Do I look like a smoker to you?”

“Frankly, yes. You look like a dead smoker. A dead, waterlogged smoker. Recently arisen from its watery grave.”

He smiled. “You don’t look so good yourself. It’s the fluorescent light. Makes everyone look sick.”

I glanced up at the tube lighting which had been roughly installed on the roof’s overhang.  “It could be entirely coincidental. You could still be the walking dead,” I said dryly.

“There’s only one way to tell, for sure.” He stepped forward again and held his hand up, over the rustic porch rail. “Carson.”

Securing the throw around me with a single hand, I shuffled forward, reached for his with the other and shook it limply. He was wet, but definitely warm. “Jill.  Are you sure you don’t have a cigarette?”

“There are very few things in life I’m sure about. But that’s one of them. Don’t smoke. Never have.” He had very white teeth. They annoyed me.

“Lose the smugness,” I said miserably.

He shrugged without losing the smile, which only made me want to cleave his skull in two with an axe.

“So, you’re my new holiday renter. I’m kind of surprised. My agent usually finds nicer people.”

“I’m trying to quit smoking,” I growled, fighting to keep the shawl on. It was made from some hideous, homey knitted stuff that sagged and slipped off my shoulders.  “I’m not here for the scenery.”

“You look cold. Why don’t you go inside and light a fire? I leave a good pile of dry pinewood in there for guests.”

“I saw that.”

“So why don’t you light it?”

I clenched my jaw. It hurt to even say it. “I don’t know how.”

Carson furrowed his brow, which channeled the rainwater. He wiped his eyes with a wet hand. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding. Why would I kid about that?”

“I guess you wouldn’t.” He looked satisfyingly sheepish. “Want me to light it for you?”

I thought for a moment.  I wondered whether wood smoke would feel anything like tobacco smoke when inhaled. I had a hazy memory of burning logs and a sort of acrid aroma.


He didn’t wait. He bounded up the porch steps like a radioactively mutated giant puppy. It made the entire structure shake.

“Wait a minute!” I said.  “You’re not going in my cabin dripping water all over the floor.”

In fact, as he stood there, his sopping clothes pooled a modest lake around his large, grubby running shoes.  And that’s when I got a good look at him.  The withdrawal-engendered anger released its vice-like grip on my jaw and slid down into my groin.

“You’re going to have to take them off,” I said, sitting back down on the rocker.

“My shoes? Oh, of course.”

“No,” I said, dropping my voice an octave. I drew my feet up under me and let the throw slip off one bare shoulder. “All of it.”

* * *

For a few seconds nothing happened. Tall and gangly, he just stood there looking at me. The rain hissed into the woods around us.  The rocking chair creaked once.

“You’re kidding.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. It’s boring.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, all of it. You’re…” I looked down at the floor at his feet, “…leaking.”

For a moment I thought he was going to balk. Then, with what seemed to me a fair amount of deliberation, he smiled and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. It was so wet, the t-shirt underneath came off with it, exposing a lean torso with a dark, sparse crop of hair that began at mid chest and narrowed into a line that snaked its way under the waistband of his jogging pants. He didn’t have a six-pack. In fact, he was just slightly and endearingly meaty around the middle. His nipples were small and dark and very puckered in the chill of the air. His skin gleamed under the light.

I may have emitted a little squeak of pleasure. I’m not sure. But as he dropped the clump of wet shirts onto the floor beside him, he looked up nervously.

“I don’t look much like the pool boy in a porn movie, do I?”

I smiled. “I don’t let the pool boy light my fire.”

Carson began to laugh but it fizzled out when I didn’t join in. “Well?”


He pried one off, and then the other.


I watched him hop around a little as he pulled the sopping wet things off his feet.

“Pants.” I said, as nonchalantly as I could.

“You’re kidding.”

I stood and, dragging excess knitted throw behind me, shuffled up to stand in front of him. He had almost a foot on me. I looked up into his face and said, in the sweetest voice I could manage without nicotine and at an ungodly hour of the morning in the middle of a fucking forest, I said: “You *did* offer to light my fire, didn’t you?”

Even under the glare of that hideous light, I saw the flush come to his cheeks.

“Yes. I did.” His voice was unsteady.

“And you *do* want to do that, don’t you?” I purred.

“Well…” He looked slightly bewildered. “Yes, I guess I do.”

I fixed him with my gaze. “Then stop being so fucking coy and take your goddamned pants off. It’s not like I’ve never seen a naked man before.”

There was a wonderful quiver in the muscles of his jaw and I heard him swallow. He might have been rain soaked on the outside, but his mouth had dried up.

Keeping my eyes firmly on his, I watched, peripherally, as his arms moved. I heard the slide of wet cotton against skin as he pushed the jogging pants down over his hips and let them drop. They landed with a soft squelch.

“Excellent,” I said, turning away and stepping over the threshold of the cabin.  “Come in.”

* * *

There is something truly delicious about watching a naked man with an erection walk around. Especially when you’re wrapped up all snug in a knitted blanket. I stretched out on the rustically downtrodden couch that sat in front of the fireplace and enjoyed the view. Carson, trying desperately to hide his self-consciousness,  knelt before the empty hearth and piled first sticks, then logs, and then a few more sticks and wads of newspaper onto the grate.  He really did have a lovely back. Long and heavy boned. His shoulder blades rolled beneath his pale skin as he worked.

The fire was impressive. I had, in fact, lied when I said I didn’t know how to build one, but I’d have never done as good a job. He was a firelighter par excellence.  When he’d finished, he turned and grinned at me.

“See? It’s easy.”

“Especially when someone else does it for you,” I said. “Thank you.”

His gaze flitted around the room nervously before returning to me.  “Would you…”

I arched an eyebrow and waited, trying hard not to let my attention slip down to the rampantly erect cock in his lap.

“…like some tea?”

“I would. One sugar, no milk.”

This time, as he stood up, I could tell he was still self-conscious, but the edge had come off it. I watched him, as he moved, with open admiration. He was decidedly pleasant to look at.  His hair was drying off, turning from almost black to chestnut brown. His legs were long and muscled.

When he disappeared around the alcove that served as a kitchen for the cabin, I called out to him. “What were you doing out in the rain in the middle of the night?”

There was clinking and rustling.

“I run when I can’t sleep.”

“In the rain?”

“Sometimes. You get used to it.”

“So, where do you live?”

“Up at the big house.  It’s about half a mile further along the lake shore.”

He came out carrying a tray, with two cups, a teapot and dishtowel over one shoulder. My stomach gave a little flutter. My lizard brain wondered why I couldn’t have one of these at home.

There was no coffee table. Instead, he crouched down and, setting the rattling tray on the rug in front of the sofa, knelt beside it.  I watched him pour. Watched him drop a single sugar cube into my cup before stirring it and handing it to me.

I sat up a little straighter as I took it, settling one bare foot on his thigh.  As he poured his own cup, I stroked the ball of my foot along the taut skin, feeling the slightly wiry hair brush the underside of my toes. The hand that held the teapot trembled slightly. The lid chinked against the pot.

The hardon, which had wilted a little as he’d prepared the tea, perked up again and brought a delightful ruddy flush to his cockhead. I sipped my drink and watched him avoid my eyes. The shyness was back.

I reached forward and let my fingertips trail down the side of his neck. Carson lifted the cup to his mouth and took what looked like a couple of scalding gulps.

“Tell me.”


“Do you put sugar in your tea?”




“Because after you’re finished drinking it, your tongue will be wonderfully hot.”

The fire crackled and spat. I moved to the edge of the sofa, tugged away the throw blanket and spread my thighs.

He put his cup down. “Now?” he whispered.

I threaded my fingers through his damp hair and pulled his head between my thighs.

“Absolutely now.”

I groaned as his warm mouth met my parted labia.  And arched my back as I felt his gorgeously hot tongue slide between them.

Quitting smoking turned out to be easier than I feared. You just need the proper level of distraction, a willing and obedient helper, and a cabin in the woods.

  37 comments for “The Quitter

  1. DJ Young
    June 12, 2012 at 5:55 pm

    Sharp, funny, too – A lithe and entertaining little read.

  2. headway10
    June 12, 2012 at 6:19 pm

    Awesome….I am finally getting an understanding of your style of writing…and this story was really good..definitely a fitting end to a great teasing start…loved the ending…what an inspiration for smokers too….Man, I can not believe I actually managed to access this..

    • June 12, 2012 at 6:23 pm

      It’s a pleasure to see you here! And thanks for the comment.

  3. June 12, 2012 at 7:43 pm

    Fantastic writing. Loved it. So funny and accurate. As someone about to try and quit (again) this line had me on the floor ‘I thought for a moment. I wondered whether wood smoke would feel anything like tobacco smoke when inhaled. I had a hazy memory of burning logs and a sort of acrid aroma.’

    Now, a cabin in the woods you say… sounds more fun than sodding patches!

  4. Monsieur Jongleur
    June 12, 2012 at 11:24 pm

    Steamy and fun… a bit of a change of pace for you RG? Or do I just only remember your darker works?

  5. janeway
    June 13, 2012 at 2:41 am

    I’m considering taking up smoking just so I can quit…

  6. June 13, 2012 at 2:54 am

    Yum. That is all.

    • LikingThis
      November 12, 2014 at 12:18 pm

      Couldn’t have said it better myself – so fun.

  7. June 13, 2012 at 10:51 am

    Ahhh. And I had to take a 23 hr. train ride with two sick kids to quit smoking. I like your idea better. 😉

  8. Mud
    June 13, 2012 at 6:05 pm

    More please!

  9. June 13, 2012 at 6:09 pm

    OK RG,
    this one really hooked me,very nicely done.

  10. TFP
    June 13, 2012 at 6:49 pm


    A delightful midweek story…thank you.

  11. June 13, 2012 at 8:56 pm

    All of a sudden quitting smoking has taken on a rather attractive light. I just need THAT cabin the wood it would seem.


  12. June 13, 2012 at 8:59 pm

    I loved how irritable and commanding Jill was. 😉

    • Leslie M
      May 17, 2015 at 6:54 am

      As do I. I think she’s my hero.

  13. mikey2ct
    June 13, 2012 at 10:53 pm

    RG, great story!

  14. Korhomme
    June 14, 2012 at 2:06 am

    I smoke a pipe. Maybe I should give up the substitute for the real thing…

  15. Ants
    June 14, 2012 at 1:36 pm

    Great story. Loved it.

  16. June 17, 2012 at 2:48 pm

    Omg… she’s back! And I’ve been away far too long. RG, this was wonderfully crafted. Thank you, just what I needed.

  17. Squeaky
    June 17, 2012 at 3:10 pm

    Fuck – if only I’d thought of this in January, when I had to quit! However…I still get cravings, sometimes…. *gives Mr Squeak a calculating look* 😉
    Really enjoyed this one, RG. Beautifully described and well paced. And it’s so nice to see that adorable shyness in a guy.

  18. André
    June 30, 2012 at 2:21 am

    Wonderfully entertaining and engaging, as always RG.

  19. July 8, 2012 at 8:10 am

    ““Yes, all of it. You’re…” I looked down at the floor at his feet, “…leaking.””

    I just laughed aloud there. What a delightful pair of characters you wrote up.

  20. George
    July 25, 2012 at 12:00 pm

    I liked how Carson was unsure. Thanks for the story. Also, your last sentence reads “You just need the proper level of distraction, willing and obedient helper, and a cabin in the woods.” Maybe add an “a” before willing, or change helper to “help” ? And I’m trusting you to tell me if you don’t want the typos mentioned. I don’t mean to see them, just sometimes I do and I feel that there’s no use in seeing them if I don’t let the author know. Also, my own writing is full of errors.

    • July 25, 2012 at 4:56 pm

      I love that you point out the typos! Thank you so much for doing it. Makes my ass look better in the long run 😀

  21. Cindy
    August 16, 2012 at 11:50 am

    The renter revolution will start with the perverts standing up for their right to be fucked by owners in the wilderness.

    Dr One

  22. Forrest Franks
    September 2, 2012 at 11:12 am

    I like this story. It’s curiously misleading at the start. Then as the story unfolds, it shows a confident woman who slowly realizes shehAaron been delivered an obedient little love toy on a platter. Sneaky very sneaky 🙂

    • September 2, 2012 at 11:17 am


      I’m glad you approve. I’m not as deft a hand at F/m stories. But I’m practicing.

  23. October 12, 2012 at 4:54 pm

    Damn. Wished I’d thought of that one. Both for a story and for a way to quit the evil weed. First rate, glad I chanced upon you and your stories.


  24. Sara
    December 18, 2012 at 9:34 pm

    Just lovely! And far too distracting to read when I did — first thing in the morning, at work!

  25. Mp
    December 31, 2012 at 1:21 pm

    Reminded me of a beach house I rented in Australia and how much I wish that adventure had been less Indiana Jones and more Remittance Girl in nature. Thanks for a great little read.

  26. Penelope Lake
    August 15, 2013 at 12:33 am

    *I fixed him with my gaze. “Then stop being so fucking coy and take your goddamned pants off. It’s not like I’ve never seen a naked man before.”*

    I think this is my favorite line.

  27. Heath
    April 20, 2014 at 5:22 pm

    Nice, thanks for writing. Clinking teapot, scalding gulps, rampantly erect cock. hahaha.

  28. Tree
    June 14, 2014 at 9:36 am

    Great story! I liked the setup and I really enjoyed that the man for once wasn’t perfectly built with a six-pack.

  29. Anastaria
    July 4, 2014 at 1:29 pm

    I loved this one. I need to quit, and I have someone willing to help, but that helper would be taking smoke breaks so it would end up as impossible. This needs to happen! I want it! Also, I wanna hear the rest of how he lit her fire! I wanna read that badly. I read in a higher comment about typos. I never pointed them out because I felt it was rude considering this is free for all and such, but since you are cool with it, “Bequeathed” has a few small typos as well. <3 as always

  30. Bud
    August 30, 2014 at 11:24 am

    I live in a cabin in the woods, it will never be the same!

    May you be blessed with all you dream of!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

18 − 11 =

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.