#cigargirl

On a crisp Saturday morning, as people pushed and flowed past her, Shannon stood still in the middle of the mall staring directly at the tobacconist's store. She pulled her coat close to herself and breathed nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The bell above the door rang whenever someone passed through it, and Shannon had been here for long enough that it was starting to have a Pavlovian reaction inside her. She reached in her pocket and clutched at her phone.

Not caring if someone passed her and read through her conversation on Discord with someone with the evocative name of MistressOfFlame.

"It's not about the cigar itself. It’s about the surrender. The sensuality. Imagine it: the way the thick, girthy cigar feels as you cradle it between lusciously painted lips, a small rebellion smoldering at the edge. It's not smoking—it's claiming a moment for yourself. Try it. You’ll thank me."

Shannon bit her lower lip, glancing nervously at the shop's faded awning. She didn’t smoke, and the very idea felt absurd—she hated the smell of cigarettes and could barely stand the faint wisp of smoke from her dad's pipe when she visited home. She never smoked pot, or even vaped. The thought of smoking…. well, ANYTHING, wasn't something she had ever considered. And yet… there was something about the way MistressOfFlame described it that made her pause.

In a way, it wasn’t about the act of smoking. It was about what it represented. Control, indulgence, a world where she wasn’t just quiet-Shannon, mild-Shannon, the girl who was so reliable her co-workers could tell what day it was from what she ate for lunch. If she listened to Flame, she could be bold-Shannon, daring-Shannon, possibly even object-of-desire-Shannon. The pull was strong.

Her thumb hovered over the chat window.

Shannon: But I don’t even like smoke. Won’t it just make me gag?

The reply came almost instantly.

MistressOfFlame: Sweet girl, it’s not about liking it. It’s about letting yourself feel something new. And when you do it, send me a picture.

Shannon’s face burned red, and she stuffed her phone into her coat pocket. Was she really going to let someone she barely knew from a DISCORD SERVER of all things talk her into this? She looked up at the shop sign again. Barry’s Cigars & Fine Tobacco. The cursive letters curled like smoke trails, inviting her in.

It wasn’t surrender, she told herself. It was an experiment. She could back out anytime. She was in total control.

Taking a deep breath, Shannon pushed the door open.

Inside, the air was thick and earthy, the smell of tobacco clinging to every inch of the small shop. She clenched her hand into a nervous fist, as she remembered the smell of her dad's pipe. Shelves lined the walls, displaying rows of cigars in neat cedar boxes - she was surprised to see them displayed for flagrantly. An older man with a salt-and-pepper beard stood behind the counter, polishing a glass display case filled with lighters and cutters.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice warm but slightly bemused as he took in her fidgeting posture.

“Uh, yeah,” Shannon said, her voice catching. “I… I’d … I need to buy a cigar.”

The words were difficult for her, but at this point she felt them true. It was a need at this point. Flame had been winding her up for days, and Shannon needed this release.

The man nodded, his expression professional. “Any idea what you’re looking for?”

She froze. “Uh, something… thick? And, um, girthy?”

His eyebrow twitched upward, but he didn’t laugh. He started reciting names and brands, but they made no sense to Shannon. This was so confusing. The rolled tobacco sticks overwhelmed her sight and smell - how could they all be so different, long, short, thick, thin, and so many shades. Her eyes drifted to a dark one. Impossibly dark, like a rich chocolate. The man saw her captivated expression and smiled.

He chuckled. “That’s a something or other, the words melted in Shannon's mind. Definitely not beginner-friendly, but if you’re feeling adventurous…”

“I’ll take it,” she blurted out before she could second-guess herself.

Minutes later, Shannon walked out of the shop with a small paper bag in hand, her heart pounding. She found a bench a few feet away and sat down, pulling out her phone, sending a picture.

Shannon: I got one

MistressOfFlame: Oh My! I didn't realised you would be so greedy. Good girl. You know what's next.

Shannon stared at the screen, then at the cigar. Her reflection in the shop window caught her eye—plain, awkward, uncertain. She bit her lip, she did know. It wasn't far to get back to her apartment. Every step made her aware of the dark brown pleasure stick that she concealed in her bag, even if no-one knew, she knew it was there. She resisted the temptation to pull it out and touch it, to stroke it, to feel how it felt. No, she'd wait until she was home.

The minutes it took her to enter her apartment felt like an eternity. She dropped her bag on the table and almost ran to her bedroom. She dug through her cosmetics for a creamy deep plum lipstick - it had been a gift from Mia, but she'd always thought it was too dark, too bold. The tingling she felt throughout her whole body demanded no time for lip-liner, she immediately darkened her lips and felt at peace.

She reached for the cigar, and the lighter she'd bought. It was so thick and wide, she had no idea how she'd fit it in her mouth. Her fingertips touched the thick veins of the leaves and she shivered with pleasure. Was she really about to do this?

The man in the shop had cut it for her, so all she needed to do was bring the cigar to her lips and light it. It felt heavy in her hands, and almost relieving when she placed it between her lips. She closed her eyes and lit it, breathing in short sharp burst in order to get it to light properly. The taste was rough and she coughed hard, but eventually figured out how to breathe it in so the smoke curled in and around her lungs.

It felt like she was burning from the inside, but she didn't care. She'd done it. She took a photo of the thick brown rod of smoke, cushioned by her painted lips and sent it to her friend. The message came back and filled her with so much happiness, she nearly blanked out completely.

A humidor is a storage container designed to help maintain a specific level of relative humidity. This is crucial for cigars, because the leaf inside the cigar naturally expands and contracts based on the relative humidity of the surrounding air.