Dont Tell Anyone

Don't Tell Anyone

As a forty-three-year-old, who every day smokes a pack of Benson and Hedges 100 cigarettes, there is an issue. I have this problem even now, and it has been with me for most of the past thirty years. It happens almost every time I light up. I have to nervously look around me and over my shoulder. I have to check that the coast is clear, that there is no one around who might see me smoking. As a grown-up adult I know that I should not be feeling guilty.

This worry is now extremely and deeply ingrained into me. A feeling of guilt, that I should not be smoking here. Even when "here" is sitting alone on my own bed in my pyjamas looking at my laptop at pictures and videos of others smoking. The idea that someone who shouldn't know that I smoke, might look through the closed curtains and see me enjoying a cigarette.

The worst thing about this is that I am an adult with two children and a professional career. I shouldn't be afraid of smoking. The students I see hanging around the back of the school, yes, they should be petrified, I have the urge to tell them to hide it. Please don't let me see you smoking, I don't want to tell you off. Rather than actually doing my job and telling them off.

Yes, there are signs in the world that I should not be smoking. Firstly, I know all about the obvious health effects. The looming potential of cancer and other such "lovely" diseases. Secondly, and a bigger physical problem is the two brands I grew up smoking, Benson and Hedges and Virginia Slims, are frustratingly no longer sold in my country. But do I listen to those hints from the little voice on my shoulder saying you should quit as you know better?

No. I still smoke. I just love to smoke. So much so that every quarter I have to bulk order all my cigarettes from an online retailer. The day the parcel arrives is like Santa's sleigh loaded with two thousand cigarettes. I am sure I can feel deep within my chest my lungs fluttering with excitement as I put the packs away. They know that the majority of the contents of those cigarettes are all heading their way.

Today, I still have the need to smoke just as much as I originally wanted to do thirty years ago.

For this pleasure I really have to thank my "smoking teacher" at the time for my graceful entry into my delightful and prolonged nicotine addiction. My Aunt Mary. As children, most afternoons, after school my sister and I would be picked up from school by Aunt as our mom was at work. Our aunt would look after us until eventually mom would pick us up.

I was a super curious child. For longer than I dare contemplate, I had fantasised about smoking. There had been hours, maybe days lost with me just sitting there watching my mom, dad, aunt, and the rest of my family smoke. There was something intriguing for me at the sight of the grey smoke billowing out from between their lips and often their noses. As I got older, the more I watched, the more I saw my destiny. I felt as if I was almost born to smoke. I was compelled to. So many restless nights were spent dreaming about having the filter between my lips. Hours spent messing around in front of the mirror with a pencil pretending to smoke.

I have always been absolutely desperate with the idea of me, Laura, actually smoking my own cigarette.

It was a simple process from my perspective. The way that everyone around me looked in love with the white cylinder they would constantly need to have with them. They would almost smile to themselves as they hurriedly but gracefully repetitively got the cigarette from the pack and to between their lips. This would happen over and over again throughout the day, every day. There was something about the sound of the click of the lighter and sight as there was the hot bright flame delightfully dancing in their hand. The look of concentration followed by delight on their faces as they dragged the smoke into their body. I was fascinated to watch the volume of smoke, like a volcanic eruption that billowed and flowed back out from their lips. I found it amazing that the white cigarette slowly burned and turned black as with every drag as it shrank in size it fizzed. For me as a child it was as if they were a real-life dragon. What made it more exciting was that within a few seconds the filter was placed back between their lips and the process repeated once again.

I think Aunt Mary knew from just watching me watching her of my inner desire to smoke. I don't know, I certainly didn't say anything. However, I probably had sat there open-mouthed staring at her intently one too many times. As I was sitting there looking on as she lit up and enjoyed the whole process of consuming one of her many cigarettes.

It was then as a ten-year-old that things first changed for me. With glee on her face my aunt Mary gave me my first ever puff on her cigarette. I didn't even inhale. Just sucked on it and then coughed my guts up. It tasted awful.

There had been a problem. I had done what I really, really wanted to do. I had wanted to enjoy my first ever drag on a cigarette, but I actually hated it. It tasted wrong, it was not actually nice.

"Whatever you do, don't tell your mom." Aunt Mary said with a laugh as I nervously handed her back the cigarette.

"I won't!" I gasped for air. As I then reached for a glass and gulped water to wash my throat out. That cigarette was the most disgusting thing ever. But my Aunt Mary was not going to stop there. Even if I potentially thought it wise to do so.

The following day, after coming in from playing outside, she got my sister watching television then giggled at me. "Laura, do you want to play a game?"

"Do what?"

"A game of lighting my cigarette for me?"

At first, I was scared, the puff I had the day before was not particularly nice. But I knew that it was something she enjoyed "hundreds" of times a day. It was something that I should be able to do. It was something that I knew I was going to do. I just had to smoke a cigarette.

"Yes?" I enthusiastically responded.

"Good, whatever you do, please don't tell your mom!" Aunt Mary again cackled an almost evil laugh as she handed me one of her brand-new Virginia Slim cigarettes. "This is our little secret." She smiled. I knew whatever happened I was not going to tell anyone.

I was standing there holding the rather long paper cylinder between my fingers. Something that I had wished I could for so many years. Her head nodded up, suggesting that I put it between my lips. I dutifully followed the instructions. Then smiling happily at me as she gave me the lighter.

This was a scary moment for me. Having Aunt Mary sitting there and watching me, with her real lighter in my hand and a real-life cigarette between my lips, mixed with an equally hot flame centimetres from my nose. This wasn't me alone in my bedroom with a pencil that I was putting between my lips pretending that I was smoking in front of the bedroom mirror. It was far lighter weight. It was far more real, I felt as if I was sweating. A dream was going to come true. I was actually going to light my first ever cigarette.

Aunt Mary giggled as she helped my fingers flick the lighter and then align the flame with the tip. I found myself going cross eyed as the hot bright flame got closer to the cigarette. It was then that she told me to drag. I watched the flame move towards the cigarette. I had made the flame dance, just as I had watched the others do. I was shocked as before I realised it. I suddenly felt the smoke in my lungs.

It was just one drag, and I forced the smoke from my lungs, then a grinning Aunt Mary took the cigarette and lighter off me. For me the sensation of the smoke in my lungs produced a euphoric moment. It was amazing. I had just smoked. I knew there and then as I felt slightly dizzy that I would have to do it again.

For the next few weeks Aunt Mary would every afternoon come up with an excuse for me to light a cigarette for her and take one drag. Each time it was preceded by "Don't tell your mom." I would smile happily totally agreeing that this was just our secret and light the cigarette and take one all-important drag.

Then a couple of days later she would suggest that the cigarette would go out if I didn't take a second drag, as she was momentarily too busy to take it back. I would happily bring the filter back to my lips. A second rush as the smoke filled my lungs. I loved every second. I was doing the very thing I felt I was born to do.

Aunt Mary would congratulate me and take her own big drag on the cigarette. I kept my side of the bargain. Not letting anyone know of our fun game.

Yes, I would go home and watch my mom light up her own cigarettes and smile. I knew what she was experiencing and enjoying. I could almost taste the smoke on my lips. Her eyes told me everything. But as promised I didn't tell her what I was doing behind her back with Aunt Mary.

During the coming weeks and months Aunt Mary would let me take one extra drag on her cigarette. Over time and it was an iterative process, I managed to smoke a whole cigarette all by myself. It was not rushed. It was gradual, literally one extra drag at a time. Until Aunt Mary was no longer finishing the cigarette off and stubbing it out. I was.

It was around my eleventh birthday that she gave me my first ever pack of Virginia Slims. I felt so grown up, but equally scared. We kept it at my aunt's. I really didn't want my mom to know I smoked.

There was a noticeable change though, I was now allowed after school and under my aunt's guidance to light up and smoke a cigarette all to myself. As the weeks and months rolled past, she suggested I had a second and then before my mom turned up, eventually a third.

But I was still being very secretive. Only my aunt knew I was smoking. Because of this I could only smoke three a day. I did not have enough time to smoke any more. Plus, my aunt made sure that I did not rush them. They were spaced out during the time I was with her.

To this day I don't know if my aunt got me addicted or if it was just my personal desire to smoke. The only issue I had was I was conflicted and desperate to keep it a secret. As such I only ever smoked the three. Even back then, deep down, I truly liked the idea of smoking a lot more.

I have to say that my aunt was very good to me in that she was forever buying cigarettes just for me. I never had to worry about it. I soon found that I would finish a pack every other week. I felt comfortable sitting with her and enjoying the process of smoking. We bonded over the cigarettes. This caused a problem in my head. I was happy inside with my aunt. It was a genuine scary idea that I could take the pack with me and to go out of the house and smoke.

At that time, I had a load of friends at school who had also started smoking. There was a whole social group thing going on. I could have easily swanned in with a cigarette between my lips. Showing off my smoking skills. I genuinely had the full on feeling of missing out. I cannot deny that there was an urge to join the group, I knew how to smoke, I enjoyed smoking my cigarettes. At the same time, I felt guilty, I had promised, and my aunt had told me not to smoke without her. So, I didn't. I was a good girl and had a different friendship group and made sure that my cigarette tasted even better by waiting and lighting up with my aunt

It was when I was nearly fourteen that the whole family went on holiday to the coast. It was meant to be an exciting and fun time. A beaching holiday. Glorious weather out of school and time to get some sun on our skin. For all the excitement for me personally there was a major issue. My routine was rocked, I wasn't at school. I wasn't going to see my aunt every day. That gave me a problem. This meant I now couldn't smoke. I didn't think of myself at the time as being addicted to nicotine. It was just something that we did together.

I had been smoking five days a week for a year or so. I was alright after day one and two, it was like being at the weekend. I didn't smoke on the weekends anyway as I was with my parents. But by day three I was missing something. I was becoming incredibly snappy and grumpy. I am sure partially due to teenage hormones but deep down I knew I just really needed to smoke. I was watching my mom light up and I was then salivating at the thought of myself dragging on the cigarette. I knew it would solve all my problems. The crux of the issue I had but I was neither at home or at the aunts. There was not a problem of physically getting hold of cigarettes as I was watching my mom smoke all day. I could have easily stolen one and lit up. But I knew I could not tell anyone. They would soon find out. This meant that I was just in a strange place and mentally in a very foul dark mood with everyone.

For that holiday, someone listened to my prayers. I had a saviour in the form of my aunt arriving. She was like a hero riding a white horse. Or in her case her car. After a few hours she could see my problem better than anyone else could. I didn't even have to explain it. She made an excuse and took me aside and away from the family. "I'm taking Laura for a short walk. We are going for a chat." She announced after lunch. We walked the short distance down to the beach, importantly out of sight.

There on my own whilst sitting on the sand she gave me what I really needed, one of her Virginia Slims. I was genuinely excited. If I had a tail, it would have been wagging. It was the best present ever. It was also my first time smoking outdoors. She had to help me protect the flame from the wind. Smoking it there and then was a moment of pure bliss. With a cigarette between my lips and smoke filling my lungs, I could finally relax.

"Laura, you need to understand something." She smiled at me in that warm way.

"What?"

"You know why you are grumpy?"

"I wanted a cigarette." I shrugged my shoulders.

She chuckled at me "Yes you realise that you are addicted to nicotine now."

"No, I can't be." I couldn't believe it. I tried to defend myself instantly by bringing the filter back to my lips.

"You do realise what you need to do?"

"No?"

"You need to explain this to your mom?"

"No!" I shook my head. I really did not want to.

"Life will be easier if you do!" She grinned at me and inhaled deeply on her Virginia Slim.

We had a second cigarette before going back and she went on to explain that my mom knowing would solve a lot of my issues, as I would then be able to light up at home.

That sounded like a simple task, but unfortunately, I was petrified of doing that. I refused. My mom just couldn't never know that I smoked. I just knew that she would be so cross with me. I would be forever locked up at home or something horrible. It just could not happen.

With the holiday over, it was a double-edged sword. Back to school and no longer sunning ourselves all day. But ultimately the following week I was happy and back in my comfortable smoking routine. I was again lighting up my three cigarettes a day after school. I had control, I never needed more. Just sitting there with my aunt enjoying the company and getting the pleasure from smoking my "regulation" three cigarettes.

Eventually reality caught up with me, my aunt won. She was bringing it up most weeks. "Talk to your mom." or "You have to tell your mom that you smoke." It was the worst two tracks on CD ever stuck on repeat. She would always say it when I had finished my third cigarette of the day and was busy covering myself in body spray before taking one of her chewing gums.

That Christmas I found myself in the same situation that I had on the beaching holiday. I was not spending time with my aunt. Ultimately, I really needed to smoke. I knew what I had to do, and it would solve the problem. I should have listened to my aunt earlier.

I nervously told my mom that I was spending my afternoons not playing but smoking with Aunt Mary. I was incredibly scared and nervous. I had prepared every situation, ready for the proverbial ton of bricks to drop down and hit me, the anger of me sneaking around with my aunt and smoking behind her back. "You are too clever to start this addictive and disgusting habit that everyone knows is seriously bad for you." It was obvious.

I was as ready as I ever was going to be.

For all my fear and dread of her knowing, the reaction was a complete surprise. My mom laughed at me. I didn't know how to respond. It was the one response I had not mentally prepared myself for. It made me feel strange. My mom produced a deep belly laugh. What didn't help was I was feeling guilty for hiding it from her and she couldn't stop giggling at me all afternoon. My Aunt Mary was right, there was a relief that my mom now knew. It was amazing but it was also embarrassing in equal measures. That afternoon as every time she lit up, she would look at me, force an exhale and then lovingly smile at me.

It didn't solve the problem that since just before Christmas day, I hadn't had a cigarette and was of the excitement of the season, I knew what was going on. I was addicted to nicotine and as the hours ticked by getting more and more desperate as I craved smoking a cigarette for myself.

That evening, she had been clearly thinking about it. My mom proudly gave me a pack of her Benson and Hedges and then sitting there, expected me to smoke one in front of her. I was not going to mess around. I truly wanted a cigarette. I also cockily thought I knew what I was doing. However, it was an eye opener trying that brand of cigarette. The flavour and taste were completely different to the Virginia Slims of my Aunt Mary. Stronger and surprisingly just that much nicer. For me there was no going back. I was going to be Benson and Hedges girl.

From there on it was a change in my situation. It happened overnight. My mom gave me the freedom that I could smoke at home too. Just as my Aunt Mary had told me over and over again. I agreed with her that I would only smoke in front of her or my aunt. I had effectively added to my smoking locations but kept the same rules. I was only smoking at home or over at my aunt's. But ultimately, I was still in my safe environment, as still where no one else could see me.

There was a natural progression of my addiction. I could still smoke my three cigarettes after school with my Aunt Mary, but then I could then come home and smoke even more. As now my mom was asking me as she reached for her pack, if I wanted a cigarette too. I was not going to refuse, I genuinely liked smoking and there was something relaxing about sitting on our sofa chatting about life to my mom whilst smoking a cigarette. I was still not in public.

Everyone was now happy, almost pleased with me, a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I was excited by my smoking habit. I could get home from school and spend the afternoon and evening either lighting up with my aunt or mom. But come the morning and going off to school, I was good, I never took my pack of cigarettes with me. I had taught myself discipline. I was not going to be seen smoking out of the house. However much my body screamed for nicotine. I was in control.

At the same time, I was still active at school, playing in the hockey team. I loved physical education, and even today I actively go to the gym. I treat my time on the exercise equipment as a way of detoxing from cigarettes. I enjoy the process of working my body and importantly my lungs hard. In both work and play.

Now that my mom knew the whole process of smoking was now easier for me. I really enjoyed the taste and flavour of Benson & Hedges. It was a pleasant feeling to inhale them. I started smoking more of them, I could smoke with my aunt in the afternoons and then mom in the evenings. I could even have a smoke after breakfast before school. I was happy, as long as no one saw me. The freedom to smoke meant that I was consuming a lot more than my original three a day. It was not long until there were a few before school and a lot more afterwards.