The Sound of Smoke
The chair I sat in was in an awkward position. I could look straight ahead and see the other side of the room before me. A few shelves lined the wall, a large table between me and them. In order to look at him, I had to turn to the side and such a move would be seen as deliberate. I think he knew that, but then again, I think he knew a lot of things. Maybe that was my mind running away with me; even though I knew I was here to be hypnotized, my mind was racing.
He’d lighted a cigar and hadn’t said anything in what seemed like the past few minutes. I heard the strike of a second match and turned to face him. He held the match before him, bending it downward so as to let the flame catch more of the wood. Then, he righted it, holding it up, and watching it. I felt invisible, as if I wasn’t in the room and if he suddenly noticed me, I’d be intruding on some mysterious ritual. I looked as he sat rapt in the flame and saw the end of his cigar glow brightly. He took his free hand and brought it up to the cigar, his forefinger encircling it toward his thumb as it rested on his middle finger and he drew it from his mouth to the side, then began to exhale a thick stream of smoke toward the match. As the smoke was running out, he blew a sharp breath and a cloud of smoke extinguished the match. I watched the smoke of his cigar mix and rise with the smoke of the burnt match and exhaled a deep breath I didn’t realize I’d held. My heart leapt in spite of myself.
He didn’t look at me, but sat fixated on the match, holding it. Instinctively, I studied him. The light from the lamp between us highlighted the line of his jaw and I traced it from his ear down to his goateed chin, the black hairs peeking through grey ones lending him an air of distinction. He put the cigar back in his mouth and again the end glowed as he took in more smoke. His lips parted and I saw his teeth clinching the cigar before I saw white smoke rise from his lips, through his mustache, and hide his face for a moment in a thickening cloud. I barely made out his lips closing but saw the cigar’s end glow. This time, he removed it, and blew three smoky rings before exhaling the remaining smoke upwards. “Listen to the music.” he said, his voice calm yet commanding.
It startled me a bit, as I’d become lost in watching him smoke. Suddenly self conscious, I turned and looked straight ahead, wondering what music he was talking about. I hadn’t heard any. However, when I listened, playing ever so softly in the background, was the sound of something that sounded like jazz. Uncomfortable in the music-filled silence, I said “That’s nice” to fill it.
“Yes,” he replied, “it is. It’s a special arrangement.” When he said that, instantly my cock went rigid. I can’t explain it other than to say those types of phrases play right into my fantasies about hypnosis. That’s something that’s always gotten me hard, the idea of being hypnotized and not realizing that it’s happening. It’s the fact that I’ve been chasing after that fantasy for so long that brought me here tonight. “You notice the way the high-hat keeps the rhythm of the piece.” I found myself listening for the cymbal all the while my mind raced through the many fantasies I had about hypnosis.
It started as a kid, I suppose. Something about being under someone’s control, being in their power. Maybe on television it was a ray gun that caused it, vampires, or some sort of crystal. Sometimes it was an ability that aliens had over humans or some special kind of sleeping gas. Anytime I’d see it happen, I wanted it to be me. Once it happened that this teenaged kid stumbled upon something he wasn’t supposed to see. Caught, he sat there tied up while the bad guys thought of something to do to him. That’s when the leader, this hot, strong guy went over to him. He was smoking a big cigar and at first the kid was coughing up a storm. As the scene went on, the guy hypnotized him and there he sat, his mouth sort of open, his eyes glassy and glazed, and the guy got in close and told him how he would forget everything that he’d seen, the man’s smoke going right into the kid’s face. He didn’t cough anymore, he just sat there and said yes. By the time a commercial came on, a wet spot was growing on my pants and I high tailed it to the bathroom to jack off.
“Some people find it difficult to understand jazz, but it’s really all about the sound,” he continued talking about the music playing in the background. “You know some people get it with the sax solo. That’s when they surrender to the sound because everything builds to that.” I turned back to face him and was met with a cloud of cigar smoke he’d exhaled in my direction. I looked back in front of me but he seemed still unaware of me even being in the room. “Understanding the sound, feeling it, following it, it’s like the work of a toddler stumbling through his first steps. Wobbling, uneasy, he falls to his knees and catches himself with his arms before, exhausted by the work to make it across the room, he sleeps so deeply. He finds the music helps him sleep.”
I thought about how I’d tried hypnosis online. First it was through text, but later it was through voice. I really was green when it came to it. It took me a while before I realized the one guy I was working with didn’t know that much about hypnosis, he only wanted to get a free show from my webcam. Not that I minded too much; I’m shy, but have a bit of an exhibitionist streak in me. Usually I keep my interest in hypnosis quiet, but I have a big smoking fetish. The thicker the smoke, the better, which is why I smoke a pipe. I’ve never really been that big into cigars for myself. I mean, I like the smell and love watching a guy smoke one, but they’re not for me. I’ll cam with guys smoking them, but I’m smoking my pipe and they seem to get off on that just as much. This one guy, the hypnotist, he said he understood the connection between hypnosis and smoke, but it became clear he didn’t. That was cool, I just stopped talking to him. I admit, though, I was a little disappointed because I thought that finally I’d found someone who got me.
“ In this arrangement, you notice the music of the piano almost rolls. Hear how it starts out high and goes down deeper and deeper into low tones. It’s like something’s waiting at the bottom of each scale but the tones go deeper now.” It’s true, I didn’t come here to talk about music, and I think if I didn’t want to be hypnotized so bad I would say something. Who knows? Maybe he really likes music and doesn’t have anyone to talk about it with. Still, it’s not really like he’s talking to me or anyone. He’s just talking. That’s funny, because when I met him online, it was like he didn’t want to talk to me at all. I don’t know how I’d never found his profile before. He lived near me, listed smoking and hypnosis as interests, and his pic looked sort of handsome. What’s more is he found me. By this time, I knew a few things about hypnosis, so I knew the questions to ask. I didn’t want to get burned again. He answered every question I had, and I felt a little bad when he asked me if we were having a conversation or an interview. He was funny, but more than a little bit of a jerk, too.
We kept chatting online for a few weeks and then made plans for me to come over. He teased me in those chats from time to time about different things, especially when we’d turn our cams on. I think I would have been offended if I didn’t love the way he flirted with me. It’d be a comment out of nowhere and then I’d realize it had a double meaning. I wouldn’t type anything in response, but I’d smile because then I’d see him break into a smile, too. It got to a point that I felt comfortable joking around a bit, and I have an odd sense of humor. He got it, though, and he’d always smile. That’s the thing about a guy who has a great smile, you want to do things to see it, so I did. I think I was more excited than he was to meet. Who knows, maybe I’d luck out and get to smoke a cigar. I like cigars. I noticed the smell of his was filling the room, but I also noticed how warm the room was getting. I shifted in my chair a little bit so I could look at him and he was just sitting there, smoking, looking straight ahead, and talking about that music. I figured since it was like I wasn’t there at all, he’d be the last person to notice me taking off my shirt.
When I pulled it over my head, I stretched a little before settling back into the chair. That stretch felt good; my chest looked good. “Notice the way the bass encircles the drums. The music works together. There’s a pattern. You can hear it. The strings circling now the skins.” That music was so turned so low it was taking everything in me to strain to hear it, but he was right. As I sat back to listen, I absentmindedly rubbed my hand across my chest, encircling it, letting it tap along with the cymbal. By this point the light from the lamp shined on the air in the room. Midway between floor and ceiling there was a haze of smoke hanging there. I think my mouth watered a little as I breathed in that air. The smell of his cigar was all over the place and all over me. I’d all but forgotten about being there for him to hypnotize me. I just wanted to smoke. I couldn’t remember the last cigar I had, but knew I needed another one.
“Now all of the instruments join together as if they’re building to something. Hear the music. Rise.” I stood, but it took all of my strength to stand and even then I didn’t think I’d be able to walk. My legs felt like they each weighed a ton. “Feel the music now. Come hear it.” I took one step, but couldn’t take another. It felt as if the floor was pulling me down. It was as if everything was in slow motion. I sank to my knees, my legs so wobbly. My face curtained by the smoky haze that grew with each expelled cloud of smoke he breathed into the air. An impulse flashed through me that if I could, I would open my mouth and take in every bit of smoke in the air into me. I opened my mouth and found myself falling forward, my arms moving out instinctively to catch me. There, on my hands and knees, the only way to reach him was to crawl. Then, he said “Listen.” A saxophone cut through the other instruments and I felt my eyes closing as strength slowly left my body and I sunk to the floor.
The chair I sat in was in an awkward position. I turned it a bit and took a cigar from the table. He took the other one and the box of matches. In one, continuous motion, he struck a match and began to light his cigar then passed the box to me. I brought my cigar to life and we sat there smoking while soft jazz played in the background. “You look comfortable with that cigar,” he said.
“It’s a good cigar,” I said. It was. I picked up the band I’d removed and looked at the girl dressed as a flapper, draped in a red cape against a gold background. “I love cigars.” With that, I took another puff of my cigar and watched the smoke fill the air of the room.
“Tell me again, how long have you smoked cigars?”
“As long as I can remember. I can’t get enough of them.”
He smiled, then, and asked, “What do you like about them?”
“The smoke. It’s all about the thickness of the smoke.”
“Yes, it is. That has a nice sound to it. The sound of smoke. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Master,” I said, then turned from him and faced straight ahead as I struck a match. Holding the match before me, I watched the flame as I puffed on my cigar. I took a good draw, then rested the cigar in the ash tray. I watched the flame as I exhaled a thin stream of smoke into it, then in a short burst, the remaining smoke clouded the match and my breath extinguished it. My eyes closed as I felt my head gently drop onto my chest.