Helen, who's 29 and a tall, good-looking brunette, takes
a long drag on her cigarette, smiles and closes her eyes as
she inhales the smoke with her mouth open. She slowly
lets the smoke pass through her nostrils on its way out from
her lungs.
"Mmmm, that's good... oh... oh... wait!"
I wonder what's going on; she sits up in her chair with
her eyes wide open and has an expectant look in them. Shortly
after, she smiles, cups her hand over her mouth and coughs.
A hack followed by a long wheezing mixed with some small but
noticeable sounds of rattlings, then a deep inhale. She has a
smile full of satisfaction and pleasure when two deeper and
louder hacks are heard. She closes her eyes and lets the hand
remain over her mouth for a while.
Helen's soft, brown eyes open up again and she smiles
happily.
"I think I have some sort of... coughing fetish". She giggles.
"I'm almost in love with my smoker's cough and I have actually started
to chain smoke just to increase it. I've always loved coughing after
my colds and when I first noticed my cute little smoker's cough
when I was 27 I immediately knew that I couldn't live without it.
So, after my two years of chain smoking I've managed to make myself
get these small coughings perhaps twice per hour, plus a lovely
explosion each morning after waking up."
"In the evenings, I sit down in my sofa to watch TV and smoke. When I feel that a coughing fit is on its way, I don't really see or hear the TV anymore, I just put my cigarette down and cup my hand over my mouth. After my first, soft, almost humid rattling, I cup both my hands up over my nose and mouth and I moan from satisfaction between each hack."
"I'm positive it's because of Mom. She's the most heavy smoker I've ever met. My earliest memory is from when I was three or four only. I still remember hearing her cough in the TV room. I went in there and just stared at her. She smoked and coughed, smoked and coughed. Cigarette after cigarette, and she coughed at least twice per minute, the whole days. Usually without no warning, I mean, each cough surprised her because it almost never started with an inhale like for me. Suddenly, her cough just was there; one quick, loud and wheezing hack followed by a few more. Then it was either over, or she inhaled with her raspy way of doing it before getting more hacks. It was a part of her daily life, just like breathing, drinking water, thinking or whatever. Often, I mean a few times per hour, she used to make a sound like if her lungs were collapsing or something and she always scared me. That's why I was staring at her. She smiled at me but she didn't understand why I was staring at her so she said "come her, darling" and made me sit down in her knee. So, I sat there and her coughing fits made me shake just as they made her shake. I remember tensing my muscles and sweating while sitting there. After each of her coughing fits, I closed my eyes for a short while and begged inside myself that she would never cough again. I listened to every sound from her, even between her coughing fits. I knew every single piece of sound from her breathing. And, when she had her morning cough in the shower, I used to press my pillow over one ear and pressing a hand over the other, but the sounds from the bathroom were so loud so there was no way to keep them out."
"Anyway, I grew older and my feelings of almost panic around Mom's bad cough turned into a mix between fear and consideration, you could say. When I was 12, I begged Mom to wait with taking her shower until that bad coughing fit was over, so that I could be with her. She started to sit down on my bed and I used to massage her back and chest. She bent her shaking and rattling body forward more and more, covering her mouth and her long, slightly curved nose with both her hands. It took more than a year before I understood that she was getting her smoky mucus up behind those long, thin fingers. She never removed her hands until her cough was over and she had got into the shower, and when I was 13, I think, I understood why. I felt terribly scared when I understood she was coughing some of all that stuff up, morning after morning. I used to hear the mucus move inside her chest, but understanding some of it were in her hands was something different. But, after some time I got used to that thought and I wanted to look at it when it was over her palms but she never let me. I think that's why I dream about getting such a cough myself. I mean, cough my own smoky mucus up in my own hands, look at it, feel how warm it is and so on. And I would never prevent my daughter, if I'd ever have one, from investigating it."
"I wanted to know everything about smoker's cough and I started to enjoy watching and hearing Mom cough and cough. When we were watching TV together, I didn't have a clue about what was on the TV, my show was sitting there beside me in the sofa. And, the best thing - I remember when I took my first drag on Mom's cigarette. I was 14, and Mom sat there in the kitchen, smoking and coughing, smoking and coughing, when I asked her if I could try. She couldn't even talk because of her cough, so she wheezed an "of course, dear" and put her cigarette between my lips. The first time I inhaled, we almost had a coughing competition, and I won it! Mom let me get used to having the smoke in my lungs by teaching me to increase the portions just a little every week. She coughed and coughed while teaching me, and the more she coughed, the more I wanted to smoke. One time, she even said to me that her cough was because of her cigarettes and for the first time I told her that I loved her cough. I've told her that lots of times since then and it has made her the world's proudest female smoker!