Little Sinner Nic

I can tell you all now that Christmas day is a bad time to realise that you have run out of cigarettes, nicotine gum, tobacco and fixings, pipe tobacco, lozenges, inhaler cartridges or any other product which contains nicotine. I have managed to keep a calm head throughout most of the day, right up until the last minute when I had to leave the family meal and walk home, hoping to regain control of my temper and stop the nicotine withdrawal fit which I was suffering from

For anyone who may not understand, do not start smoking, but I feel that I should explain the reason that a nicotine fit can be unpleasant. Nicotine is a sedative, which helps to suppress and calm anxieties. Essentially it is an artificial coping mechanism for times of stress. Unfortunately when this coping mechanism is removed, the anxieties feel much worse, and with the other effects that withdrawal brings the phrase 'I would kill for a cigarette' could easily become literal. My mind still is not quite straight now, even though I managed to acquire a half-pack.

Which brings me to the second part of the story. On the walk home I passed a gaggle of girls or young women, of indeterminate age, chattering and smoking. Passed may be the wrong word. A nicotine fit can massively heighten certain senses, at least I find it can, and from several hundred yards away I tracked the smell of smoke to the group. I then had to think of a way to seperate these people from their nicotine, which took me a few seconds to plan while 'Merry Christmas's' were exchanged, and were replied to with rather drunken hails in response. My cunning plan was then complete, and I requested a cigarette, explaining carefully that my sanity may be at stake and hoping that my rather snappy clothing would help speak for me, not to mention my recently neatened goatee and charming hat.

They did. One of the girls handed me a cigarette, and another asked if I would be alright for the rest of the day. I expressed doubt and, with giggles that I hope were due to alcohol rather than youth, one of the girls offered me the remains of a pack in exchange for a kiss. Now what worries me is that in various films and popular culture cigarettes are prison currency, and essentially I traded sexual favours for a few of them. The sexual favours were extremely limited, and involved no more than a little tongue and a touch of wandering hands, but does this now make me a prison bitch?

Oh, and I got a phone number out of the deal as well. I really need to start printing up business cards. All I need to do now is hope that the girl in question is indeed legal. I suspect that she is, although that may merely be optimism.