By the end of my sophomore year at university, I had accrued a pile of student debt, and still had two more years to go. I went outside my dorm room for a smoke. As I sat on the steps, blowing smoke rings, I finally relaxed. Another girl in the dorm came out, and lit up too.
We began chatting, and I told her about my money problems. She said that I should think about becoming a smoking model. I was surprised to hear that she had earned over two thousand dollars working for a website that featured women smoking. Apparently, some people found the habit quite erotic.
She gave me the domain name of the site, so I checked it out. I was relieved to discover that all the smoking models were fully clothed. I filled out the online application, took a selfie, and sent it along with the application. Within an hour, I received an email with a date and place for an interview.
I had never considered modeling. I had always considered myself an ugly-duckling. As a redhead, my skin was pale and covered with freckles. In fact, I kept my orange hair long to help cover up the spots that dotted my face. My brother often said that I looked like a plucked chicken, and I couldn't disagree. However, I was tall, thin, with perky breasts, all of which the boys had found interesting.
Desperate for money, I decided to give the modeling thing a try. Fortunately, the studio was only a short drive from the campus, and I had no trouble finding it. I really wanted a smoke to calm my nerves, but resisted, in case I needed to smoke when I got there.
I parked in front of large residential home—not sure if I had the right place, I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell. The door opened, to reveal an elegant woman wearing a long red dress and high heels. She was full-figured, but fit, and had beautiful black hair. She introduced herself as Ellen, and seemed pleased to meet me. She led into the living room, and motioned for me to sit on the couch.
"Is this your first modeling job?" she said.
"Yes," I said, fidgeting.
"Not to worry, you are quite pretty, have lovely skin, and redheads are popular on our site," she said, smiling reassuringly.
I studied her features. Ellen was part Asian, and she came across sincere. Something about her, just engendered trust. She got a contract and went over it with me. I signed it right then and there.
A young man came in, said she introduced us. His name was Pete. To my surprise, Ellen told me that he would be my videographer for the shoot, which was happening right now! He was extremely handsome, with black wavy hair, a muscular frame, and a disarming smile. I cautiously followed him down a long flight of stairs into the basement, worried that I had gotten myself in over my head.
The basement was divided into numerous small rooms or "studios," with curtains separating them. As we walked by one, I noticed a pretty young woman in a bright yellow sundress, standing with her hands on her hips, smoking, while a cameraman circled around her, apparently filming her. Pete touch my elbow, indicating I should follow him. He escorted me to an empty studio.
I was very nervous, and my face blushed bright red, as I turned to face Pete. He flashed me another smile.
"Not to worry red, our clients will fall in love with you—I already have," he said, winking.
I relaxed a bit, straightened my orange blouse and skirt, combed my hair, set down my purse, and walked to the center of the room. Pete handed me a back of 120 white cigarettes. I had never smoked one before, but got my lighter out, and prepared to light it.
"Not yet! Wait until I'm recording," he said, laughing.
His was so damn cute. I could feel my panties getting moist. Once he was set up, I placed the cigarette between my lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply. I turned my head sideways, and leisurely blew a tight column of white smoke that reached several feet before breaking up. I took another drag, gave him a shy smile, and exhaled a series of tiny perfect smoke rings.
