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We do not in any way promote smocking. According to the CDC "Smoking causes cancer, heart disease, stroke, lung diseases, diabetes, and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), which includes emphysema and chronic bronchitis. Smoking also increases risk for tuberculosis, certain eye diseases, and problems of the immune system, including rheumatoid arthritis."
>>>>>>>>>>>>POST ONLY MEANT FOR ADULTS OVER 18>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
.>>>>>>>>>>>>IF YOU ARE BELOW 18 DO NOT READ>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Thank you to everyone who took the time to read my story.
The story begins during my first year in college.
My life had drastically changed. My hometown was no longer densely racially homogenous. There were people from various racial and social upbringings. Particularly at the high school I attended. It was a co-educational private school. I had to wear a uniform, dark socks, comfortable shoes and everything. Because my brother had previously attended the same school and was very popular among his peers, I was given a bit of a head start on the social ladder, so to speak. In other words, I wasn't an outcast. I made a lot of friends and became very involved in extracurricular activities.
My parents were strict with me, they wouldn't let me leave the house until I had finished my homework, completed my share of household chores, and so on. My older brother had moved out to college and taken an internship program. I, on the other hand, had graduated but had chosen to attend a community college downtown because I hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do with my life.
When I was allowed to go out, I would always bring a friend or two along with my best bud-Dean. He'd bring his friends, and we'd eventually go someplace to hangout. Whatever the reason, it was just harmless teenage fun. I had no time to date because I was so preoccupied with school and extracurricular activities.
Oh, the memories! ( I am patting my head, smiling, as I write this). Anyways, let's get to the main story.
My mother was a control freak, If you know what I mean. Her cocktail prescription pills made her worse. She was seeing a doctor at the time, treating her depression. I began smoking by the same time, at the age of eighteen. I never told her, but she was aware. My addiction to smocking wasn't a result of child neglect or anything related to that. it was simply a bad habit I couldn't break. She started looking around my room for evidence that I was smoking cigarettes. Peaking into my bags, underneath my bed, inside my pockets, pretty much everywhere, she would search every other day. Whenever I came home smelling from smocking cigarettes, she would demand that I take a shower and throw my clothes in the washer. I always tried to get rid of the smell, but it didn't always work.
Then I went to see a girl I was hooking up with one evening. We had sex. A few hours later, on my way home, I light a few cigarettes. It was late at night, and I assumed my mother would have fallen asleep by then. As I entered the house, I hung up my jacket and sneakers before making my way to my room down a narrow hallway.
"Hmm, smells a bit like pussy and cigs".
Just as I entered my bedroom, I noticed my mother sitting on the bed with the bedside lamp turned on: stone-faced, eyes beaming with rage and folded arms. The room was cold and untidy as I had left it two days before.
She now demanded angrily that I let her sniff my pussy/cigarette-smelling hands. I panicked, refused, and ran back to the living room through the narrow corridor. We had a huge argument about it. That night changed my relationship with her forever, because it wasn't the only time she asked.
I do not have anything against my mother because I know she is looking out for me. She suffers from severe depression and is treated with medication. Her life has been drastically altered as a result of the prescription pills. She used to be loving, kind, active but after taking those pills, she became withdrawn, lazy and manipulative. She likes to give dad the perception I am a problem to her, somewhat giving her room to pick fights with me. My father almost threw me out once, but I kept my cool and returned quietly. I made the decision to love her no matter what.
But her demands to constantly smell my hand only after having sex scares me shitless. She doesn't ask to smell anytime I go out with friends, run errands, go to classes, or even to work. Even when I only smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol, she never asks. I mean, I'm still puzzled as to how she knows I hook up. I was thinking she may have developed some sort of sixth sense or something, but if not, this is insane.
I made up my mind, I'll be moving to an apartment in May. I haven't told anyone else, not even my father, because the poor bastard would have a heart attack just hearing this. Until then, I'd rather fight every time than let my mother smell my hands after having sex.
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