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So, you want to know how my daughter Marie became a cigarette whore? She followed in my footsteps, and her grandmother's. It's really sort of a family tradition.
My fiancée once said me spelling my name as "Cathie" seemed exotic and sexy. I changed it because four other women and girls in our neighborhood were "Cathy" or "Kathy", and two were "Katie".
I'd been engaged to Keith over two years, and he wouldn't agree to a wedding date. He pestered me for sex at least daily, sometimes twice or even three times a day, and didn't like me smoking in the house.
He had a smoking fetish and enjoyed staring at my mouth while I puffed away, but the smell bothered him. He only let me smoke in the garage, the bathroom with the fan on, or anywhere if I opened a window and let him put his pecker in me. I loved him the first month or so we were together, but it soon became obvious he was mostly in love with sex.
The biggest problem was his stamina. It wasn't like I could suck him or give him a quickie for three minutes and be done with it. Nearly every time, he took over half an hour to cum. Occasionally he went on and on, screwing and fucking, fucking and screwing, in and out, in and out, for an hour!
Even the best blowjobs I could give took at least twenty minutes with him! Many women would love a guy lasting that long. I usually come in ten minutes or so, and any penetration after that is uncomfortable.
He bought everything my daughter and I needed, and more. I play violin as a hobby and joked about getting a Stradivarius the next time I had a few million to spare. An amateur like me playing a real Stradivarius would be absurd, but Keith spent three grand buying me a very nice violin the next Christmas.
He had no idea what teens liked, so he gave Marie a mall gift card with a thousand bucks on it. She promptly purchased five pounds of candy, five pounds of cheap costume jewelry, five pounds of cheap makeup, and several overly slutty outfits.
His work as a computer company bigwig bored me to tears when he tried to discuss it with me. He didn't care much about my passions, either, art and music. Most of our talks were about basic household matters or him pestering me for sex.
When I complained about him to my mother, she helped out in a very odd way. I agreed to let him "cheat" with her once a week. I have to admit, after he paid for her breast implant revision surgery, she's still quite attractive from the tits down.
Instead of being jealous or angry, I was more than happy to get a break and have a quiet bedroom all to myself for a change.
Keith and I had a few big arguments, but there was no way I could afford to leave him. He gave me several expensive gifts as apologies and kept claiming he loved me. He never hurt or abused me, other than begging for sex far more often than I wanted it.
Eventually we reached a deal. I'd give him oral, anal, and intercourse once a week each and he could "cheat" with my mother every weekend. He'd keep paying the bills and leave me alone the rest of the time. We didn't use the words, but he was effectively paying to fuck his hooker.
My daughter Marie was a big problem, too. She was a rebellious little bitch a long time, just like I was at the same age, barely eighteen. She snuck out of the house to go to parties late at night and dated boys that I knew were no good. I don't know for sure, but I think she messed around with another girl, too.
Instead of "Marie", Keith playfully called her "Mary Contrary", then "Contrary", then "Connie", and eventually just "Con." It seemed to fit her, since she was on a path toward jail unless she made some major changes. I started calling her "Contrary" but spelled it "CUNTrary" in my head.
