No Two Cigarettes…

No two cigarettes evoke the same thought. Afterwards, of course, you might regret them equally, but at the time you pull the cloying, acrid smoke down deep into your lungs where it can do the most damage, it births a different notion.

The one I had when I saw him, leaned up against the wall of the austere granite building was: him, oh, yes, I want him. This was, of course, where the lepers congregate to feed their filthy habit. He was smoking a Djarum; I could smell it from across the courtyard. Dark, sharp, spicy sweet, I could almost taste the burnt brutal tang on his lips, along with the traces of sugar.

He stared off into the distance as he smoked, having his own singular thought. It took me a moment to decide, and then I approached him.

“Can I buy one of your clove cigarettes? I haven’t had one in so long.”

The smokey eyes looked at me from under an embarrassment of dark lashes. “No. You can’t buy one,” he said, pulling the soft pack out of his shirt pocked and tapping a cigarette out. It had the familiar creamy paper, mottled dark where the clove oil had stained it. “But I’ll give you one.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, taking it. Even before I put the filter to my lips, the reek of spice enveloped me. And before I’d rummaged successfully in my own pocket for a lighter, he was offering me a flame, touching it to the tip. I drew a first, hard hit and smiled. “Yum.”

“Mm.”

“Where did you get them? They’re hard to find.”

“Jakarta. I brought back a carton.”

I licked my lips, tasting the sweet coating of the Djarum. “Make them last.”

“I always do.”

* * *

Much later that day, once the violence of the sun was a forgotten foe and we’d polished off a bottle of corked Australian Shiraz, I sat on his thighs with the taste of his semen on my tongue. He sat up and pressed another lit, smoldering cigarette against my lips and pulled me onto his spent cock.

“Have you ever smoked opium?”

“No,” I replied, savouring the strange but pleasant blend of human seed and burning spice.

“You should. You’d like it.”

I sucked my bottom lip and then kissed him. “It’s not safe to buy opium here. Too many snitches.”

“I know.” His hand drifted down my bare spine and over the swell of my ass cheek. He gave it a hard squeeze. “Come to Laos with me.”

And so I did.