Addicted Freedom

Welcome friends take a seat. I am going to introduce you to our mutual friend Sharron. She is a beautiful girl. Blonde, slim, long legs. The sort of girl you will appreciate from a distance, and even more when close up.

She thinks of herself as a free spirt. Someone who rules are for other people. Not her. She desperately fights not to conform, but as with everyone she is clearly forced to work within parameters.

Her freedom is hindered by one thing that we have in common- me, Addiction.

To begin at the start let me explain her day. It's very simple. Like most of us she wakes up, in her case she needs a cough and grown. Then when she has removed herself from her bed, goes to college, work, and finally in the evening sleeps. However, there is one little difference.

With her delightful freedom that she feels she inhabits. She is trapped.

Because of, let's say desire for autonomy, she fell out with her parents as they really wanted to her to put some clothes on and stop smoking. Two simple requests. They were annoyed she would sit there for days on the sofa naked, whilst chain smoking.

Our Sharron is a naturist at heart, as part of her dislike of rules, she hates the constriction of clothes. She refuses to wear shoes, unless forced, she likes to be at one with nature and is happy in the evenings and weekends, even with company, just sitting there in her birthday suit. She doesn't care if people stare at her. Its Sharron being Sharron.

It maybe one thing to be naked, but she tops off the thrill with a cigarette. To her this is bliss.

In an attempt to finish college, she had to move out of home. Luckily for her, the parents were willing to stomp up the cash as they had bought the flat. However, she still needed money to eat and of course she needed to smoke!

Our friend Sharron isn't an ardent militant naturist. She would conform if she forced to. Especially on her time of the month. Even she will reluctantly put a pad on. In doing so she will also wear the smallest, thinnest pair of panties she has. Also, at college she will reluctantly put the bare minimum of clothes on to go to college and then on to work. She has spent many hours walking around the town working out where she can walk without the need for annoying shoes.

The free spirt inside Sharron has now taken her black dirty feet as part of life, so much so she cannot really be bothered to shower to wash them off. She knows deep down they will be dirty again as soon as she steps outside the front door.

Today she woke up on time to take her afternoon exam, but as she had been a true student. Keeping my company for most of the night, smoking cigarettes and burning the midnight oil cramming for revision. There were books on one side of the desk, and her quickly emptying pack of cigarettes on the other.

The problem is the alarm was set. She reached for it coughing and groaning and turned it off. She has now rolled over and gone back to sleep.

She will remember in a second, and whilst enjoying her shut eye now. When she remembers it will be sadly twenty minutes too late for her. That she does need to get up, and at the very last-minute she will roll over, cough three or four times, grab her cigarette pack and hurriedly get a filter between her lips and light one. It will be then that she will open her eyes and then look at the time.

Whilst hungrily smoking her 'morning' cigarette she will be in a mad panic swearing at herself as she frantically runs around the room pulling up her skirt enthusiastically deposited on the floor yesterday afternoon and throw on a top from the wooden chair in the corner, pick up her bag, keys, phone and throw in what remains of her pack cigarettes as she runs out the door.

Readers will note, no 'morning' shower again for this girl. There is no time. Her exam started precisely 1 minute ago.

She jogs or more accurately walks quickly along the double yellow lines as they are easier on her shoeless feet. It's not far. She will get to her exam room 10 minutes late, flicking her second cigarette of the morning into the drain as she jogs up the steps. With her large smile and an apologetic grovelling noise she is let in. We won't know how well she does for a few weeks, but she fair to say the reason she is still doing her undergraduate course at the age of 22 reaffirms her inability to confirm to timings, and of course to sleep.

With her exam finished she rummages her cigarette from the pack in her bag and hurriedly lights one. Two hours siting in a large hall for Sharron is painfully long time. As it's my job to try and keep her on her toes.

She then heads to work, again she loyally keeps to the double yellow lines, cigarette between her fingers occasionally reaching her lips to inhale the smoke, as she walked along in trying to keep the grit between her toes.

She reaches work, again 10 minutes late, it's her fault as usual, the shortest route doesn't have the important yellow lines. She is casually exhaling and flicking her cigarette across the road before pushing at the door.

Sharron goes into the office and reluctantly picks up her green tabard, her boss forces to wear, it hides her obvious breasts and nipples on show after she has been in the chiller section. Sharron then sits behind the till for the next four hours serving endless streams of customers vegetables and tinned fruit. However, when her boss isn't looking or is out and there are no customers about, she tries to pop out to sneak a cigarette. Sometimes she times it right, more often than not she gets caught and reluctantly told off by her boss, but the customers tend to be more appreciative and let her smoke- "You must need it right?" they often say, has she nods and furiously inhales deeply, before quickly walking in as they ask and pay for their own packs behind the sliding door next to her till.

The stares she gets when people can't find the tinned beetroot as she walks around the shop in her short floaty skirt and bare feet, as she hops up on the little stool to retrieve the tins from the top shelf, the male customers enjoy the purposeful flash of her bare buttocks under the hem, whereas the women tut at her filthy black dirty soles.

The store shuts at ten, and she will reluctantly spend fifteen minutes of the regulated half an hour restocking the shelves before having a couple of cigarettes before heading home. She would light the first cigarette that will already be between her lips as soon as the door was locked. The air conditioning will clear the air before morning.

When it's not raining, she enjoyed the evening heat of the pavement on the soles of her feet compared to coldness of the shop tiles. When there are puddles, she likes jumps in them for fun. The mud and leaves splashing up her legs.

That night she had all the good intentions of going straight to bed, so she could get up on time, for tomorrow morning exam, but as usual, that idea was soon discarded. With two new packs of cigarettes that need smoking along with plenty of social media to catch up on. There is maybe at the bottom of her list her study requiring her attention.

Sharron would sit in either nothing on her sofa with her cigarettes, and laptop and smoke the night away. She might contemplate looking at her books later.

For the next morning it would start again. She would wake up with her cough, a need for a cigarette before rushing out the door. Her poor bedding was black with dirt from her feet, much like her lungs from her cigarettes. She may find time for a shower later in the week, when her boss really suggests with an exaggerated sniff that she has one.

Apart from that she is a free spirt moving within the confines of her addicted reality.

You see, she has joined me with needs and desires, she maybe clothes free, but she cannot truly be smoke free.

The End.