Beautiful pipes and pipe men

Another pipe story scoured from the Internet.  Sadly I was unable to find any subsequent entries.

Skulkings ~ Volume 1— Chapter 1

By: PipePigBoy

What is skulking? Everyone of you pigs out there know exactly what skulking is….you’ve done it….and probably most of you Daddies at least when you were younger.  Skulking is when you hang around places you know you can get a glimpse of a good man….or more specifically for us pipe pigs, skulking is hanging around in or outside of the pipeshop, cigarshop, cigarbar, pub, etc.  Its that lustful act where you wait to inhale as much precious second hand smoke as you can and watch real men pack their pipes, light them, tamp them, relight them and enjoy their briarful of rich tobacco.  It’s following a man after he walks out of a mall pipeshop and smokes his pipe walking around the mall (pre anti-smoking Nazi control of public air).  Its hanging around in the pipeshop asking lots of questions and inhaling as much secondhand smoke as you can.  It’s deliberately taking the seat downwind of the pipedaddy so you can enjoy his smoke too. You know what skulking is, because you’ve done it or you wouldn’t be reading this on this web page.  So for all you skulkers out there…… here is skulkings volume one.

I remember the first time I skulked (any expert linguists out there know the proper conjugation of the transitive verb “to skulk”?).  I was 18 and at the mall.  I had already started down the road to being a pipe pig by jacking off to pictures of men in Field and Stream magazine—those were the days when they still had ads for pipe tobacco blends such as Field and Stream, Maple Mixture, Kentucky Derby.  I was already fondling the pipes of my Uncle, my Dad’s best friend, and my junior high school friend’s Dad—already picking them up and licking the briar….holding the briar in my hands, smelling the bowls right up next to my nostrils, tasting the pipespit and flavor left on the bits, stuffing my face in the tobacco pouches, tins, and humidors.  Already fondling the leather pouch….tasting it with my boymouth.

The first time I skulked I was at the mall.  I went one Saturday afternoon. Three glorious hours of raging teenaged boydick hardon—Its a good thing I hadn’t started leaking yet or I would have been sopping wet I’m sure.  I decided to go sit on the bench outside the Tinder Box in the mall—and watch—and inhale…it really wasn’t a decision.  It was more animal than that—more instinctual—I needed the pipesmoke—-needed to see the thick creamy clouds of aromatic smoke pouring out of men—-needed to watch the packing and tamping and lighting—needed to smell the rich aroma and feast on it.

It didn’t take long…maybe 10 minutes….in he walked.  He was maybe roughly 45 years old, with reddish brown hair, closely trimmed beard and mustache.  About 6 feet tall and of normal to muscular build, athletic, but not slender.  He had on a pair of beautiful reddish brown cowboy boots, painted-on wranglers that showed the most incredible bubble ass I’d seen at that time, a tight polo knit shirt that showed the musculature of his pecs, and a brown tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.  He was essence of PipeDaddy.  I watched him as he walked in….hoping that he was going to buy pipe tobacco…hoping he would light up…hoping he would walk out smoking a briar so I could follow him.  Hoping he wasn’t just going to buy cigars for later. SCORE!!!  Up to the glass jars he walked.  I was transfixed—like a dog when he smells a bitch in heat—totally possessed with one thing…..the pipe daddy.

He pulled out a beautiful briar.  I was still sitting on the bench, straight in front of the door to the TinderBox so I could watch every move made at the tobacco counter.  It was a ¾ bent larger bowled smooth walnut finish briar (not oversize bowl, but close) with a traditional black Lucite stem that seemed almost short for the hefty size bowl.  He began packing it from the jar and the tobacconist then began filling his order as they chatted.

I watched as Daddy packed the pipe. I was staring at the hard briar in his red fur covered hands as he pushed the moist dark tobacco into the mouth of the large walnut briar.  Waiting…rock hard….breathing shallow….beginning to sweat…..heart racing….blood coursing through my body…..I could feel my heart beat in my boydick.  Then the magic moment occurred.  He pulled out his pipe lighter (a sign of a real pipe daddy) and began lighting the bowl…..what ritual….how agonizingly slow as he sucked the flame into the bowl over and over again and the rich creamy smoke poured from his mouth.  Then he did something I hadn’t seen before….he took a deep drag on the pipe and I waited for a thick creamy puff to come out of his mouth, but what happened next almost caused me to blow my load on the spot——thick jets of smoke poured out of his nostrils—not thin wisps of smoke—a thick creamy blast poured from his nostrils like a firebreathing dragon or a raging bull.  I don’t recall, but I think I was trembling by this point.  He must have felt my eyes boring down on him, because he looked straight out to where I was sitting and I of course turned away so as not to be caught staring at him.

How I longed to be standing there face to face with him sucking in his thick creamy smoke….taking in the rich blasts of smoke…needing it…..being consumed by my need for a man’s pipesmoke.  A longing that is as much a part of me today as it was that first time.  The deep need to inhale a man’s pipesmoke as he feeds it to me.

He tamped and relit the pipe without producing as much smoke as I had hoped, paid for his purchase, and started towards the door… towards where i was sitting directly outside.  I knew I had to follow him—-it wasn’t a choice….it was like a starving animal seeing prey….. predatory, instinctual, primal…I had to have his smoke.  So as he walked out and turned to walk the mall, I rose and followed him.    I paced myself so that I could walk through each puff he let out….each puff swirled behind him and into my face where it belonged…..into my face where it was greedily sucked up and inhaled…into my face where he should be deliberately blowing it and forcibly feeding it to me…into my face where the rich spicy strong tobacco aroma made me feel more alive than ever before.  And the smoke lust grew….my dick felt like it would explode it was so hard and engorged….my heart was racing and I was beginning to drip with sweat as my shallow excited breathing was only paused by deep greedy nasal inhales of Daddy’s smoke.

And so I followed him like a fucking puppy dog follows his new master.  Already owned, already possessed by the pipelust, already controlled by each precious puff.  I was already a Pipepig.  All the way to the far end of the mall….and upstairs…up to the third level above the food court of the mall to an area right in front of the gameroom where I spent many a dollar….him puffing and me following and greedily inhaling.   He stopped in a large wide area filled with greenery and leaned over the railing overlooking the food court standing more or less outside the gameroom with his back to the teenagers pouring money into the video games.    The gameroom was the second store in from the 3rd level entrance and I was hoping he wasn’t going to pause and then walk out. I watched my prey…..watched to see which direction the air in the mall would flow….where the precious smoke I had to have would most quickly and easily reach my face.  To the right it appeared.  The spot where I could stand near the railing and suck up his smoke as it drifted my way….I longed to stand next to him and kiss him, to feast upon his smoke while the bit was still in his mouth. For him to take me in his arms and exhale pure hot rich creamy thick spicy aromatic pipesmoke down into my aching lungs through my boymouth and nose. I stood there inhaling, watching, staring even and being as I am now aware far too obvious.  He looked over at me and smiled with the pipe in his mouth a puff curling from his nostrils through his red mustache.  I nervously smiled back and moved to sit on the bench that was between us up against the railing—-moving in closer for more thick smoke….hoping he wasn’t going to walk off until he has smoked the bowl all the way to the bottom.  To my wonderful surprise after about 5 minutes more, he came over and said “would you mind if i sat here and waited? Would my pipesmoke bother you?”

I almost shit my pants and I’m sure something stupid and totally incoherent, some babbling came out of my mouth.  I’m not sure what I said, but it must have been some indication that he could sit.  He asked again “you sure the pipesmoke doesn’t bother you?”  and this time I pounced on the situation…more assertively saying…”No Sir (good southern upbringing which only predisposed me to be the boy I am now)…No Sir…..you’re pipesmoke won’t bother me…as a matter of fact it smells really good to me. (and what I did next can only be described as an act of piggish instinct).  He took out his lighter and tamper and tamped and relit his pipe.  And as the smoke drifted right to me, I inhaled deeply and obviously…sticking my face forward into the drifting cloud in front of me that had moved my way.

He chuckled and said “wow…you really like the pipesmoke don’t you son?” Again, “Yes Sir” was my natural southern reply…but it meant more to me somehow.  I’d said those words a thousand times, but never felt them flow so naturally from my mouth or with such deep meaning.  I was stumped…I wanted desperately to talk to him….to be his pig…..I wanted him, and yet didn’t really understand what I wanted from him yet not understanding sex and being the total virgin that I was at that age.

“Your pipesmoke smells really great,”  I blurted out almost inappropriately quickly and nervously.

He got the funniest grin on his face and he played with the pipe in his mouth a moment and asked “how old are you son?”  (son in the southern use of the word).

“18,” I replied. 

“Good,  Very good.”  he said smiling.  "You here at the mall with your family son? or friends?“ he asked naturally.

“I’m here till my mom comes to pick me up out front.”  I replied naively just glad that he was talking to me so comfortably and that I was able to suck up his secondhand smoke as we chatted.

“Is your mom coming to get you soon son?” he asked again puffing, this time the smoke being blown more in my general direction.

I greedily inhaled, my hard boy dick hurting from how excited I was.  ”No not until 6pm Sir.”  He proceeded to tamp his pipe and puff hard on it as the thick smoke poured from his mouth and nostrils and he seemed rather pleased.