The subtle nature of nicotine never ceased to surprise me. Carefully timed cigarettes when all the world was right and my health was at its peak was how I started. Then I found the cigarette in my hand when things weren't going so well. When I was stressed, or even just bored. Soon I didn't care what state my health was in, or what time it was, or what I was doing. The warming gasp of poisonous smoke poured down my throat, rain or shine, in sickness or in health, for as long as us both shall live. The thing is, it shouldn't surprise me, since I've now started dozens of times. I have a strange gift where I can transfer my deep addiction into anyone and suddenly be free of it. Someone else then has to carry the burden of my smoking addiction. I get myself horridly, totally and utterly addicted and then introduce someone unsuspecting to the pleasures of being utterly enslaved to nicotine. And after I transfer the addiction, I can take or leave cigarettes. I don't care for the things at all and I'm free to start all over again and explore it all over again, my lungs fresh and my brain untrammelled.
The only proviso for me being able to transfer my addiction, is that the person in question has to be currently smoking a cigarette. This introduces a challenge to get a nonsmoker to try a cigarette. Most people are repulsed by them and it's these people I get the most pleasure out of introducing.
So it came to pass on one sultry summer evening in a rural English town I was at a loose end. My work means I travel from place to place and I spend a lot of evenings alone in hotel rooms. I left my room and wandered the streets of this pretty Georgian town. Grand churches and banks sat among cute little shops and houses all set against a market square filled with drunken revellers on this Friday evening in July. The pubs were spilling out onto the street with people of all ages. I decided to stop in a drinking hole called The Greyhound where large groups of young people stood outside, pints in hand and cigarettes smouldering nearby. I'd got just about as much as I could out of my addiction and was looking for a participant, willing or unwilling, to take it on. I'd steadily built up to 60 a day, my fingers were yellow and my lungs were obviously black given the occasional brown I had to spit after a common coughing fit. I am a young man, of 26 years old with a good physique and a open and welcoming face with well cropped blond hair and stubble. I don't think I'm the one you imagine when you read of such heavy addiction. My whole being reeks like an ashtray and I couldn't be happier about it. The pleasure I derive from each delicious cigarette, piping its way through my ever-more clogged arteries brings me peace, it brings me a buzz, an excitement and it brings me clarity. However, I wasn't unaware of its negative impacts. I love to run, to have long and energetic sex and to sleep uninterrupted all night long and all those things were becoming harder as nicotine's hold tightened over me. Even working was becoming hard because I couldn't spend longer than 15 minutes indoors without the need to smoke. I'd taken to chewing gum, vaping, pouches, everything else to constantly keep myself topped up but this only added to the madness of dependency. I fancied some time away from my full time nicotine-delivery job and I needed a vessel to deposit it in.
I bought a pint of the local ale, put a fresh, unlit cigarette in my mouth and wandered towards a group of 5 young women outside in the smoking area.
"Do any of you ladies have a light?"
One of them smiled at me suggestively, she looked about 22, blond hair and white teeth gleaming in her impudent-looking grin. She was dressed to go out, in a purple dress that showed her modest but well-proportioned cleavage and slim waist. She introduced herself as Hannah after handing me a pink Clipper lighter. I expertly lit up and blew smoke into the warm evening air.
After talking to her for a bit about her work with horses and dreams of studying to become an equestrian vet, I turned the conversation to darker matters.
"Why do you think women find vampires so attractive?" I asked her, now on my third cigarette, she hadn't lit up once.
That impudent grin started again and she tucked her blond hair behind her ear coyly.
"Danger, I suppose" she suggested, eyeing me.
"Danger, mixed with the fantasy that you can change a man." She added.
I smiled and she smiled in return.
"Surely he changes her and not the other way around though?" I countered, offering her a cigarette. She pinched together her thumb and index finger and reached into the packet to pull one out. My heart raced and my cock hardened, it was time to create another nicotine slave.
She put the cigarette between her plump lips, her make-up staining the filter. I took the pink lighter she gave me from the table and reached over to light her up. Her face lit up and I saw the flame reflected in her brown eyes. She looked so young, so innocent, so ready to be plundered by addiction.
She took in a gasp of smoke and I decided to wait until she was part way through the cigarette to see how she smoked before I gave her the mad compulsion. She inhaled but shot the smoke quickly out her lips. A novice smoker, a social smoker, I profiled.
"Vampires can be changed by women" Hannah said after a pause.
"The fantasy is that you are the one girl who can make vampires feel care towards their victim. And then that dangerous vampire can be harnessed by the woman to protect herself."
"You've clearly thought about this" I nudged her and she blushed, taking a sip from her wine.
"Well, like I say, it's a fantasy" she shrugged. "In reality the vampire just eats her and maybe turns her into a vampire too."
Her cigarette was burning down in the ashtray and was only halfway done. Was she going to take another drag? She seemed to have lost interest and I worried that I might have missed my chance.
"What if I told you, I was a vampire?" I said in a low voice.
