My Life as a Pipe
by in2other
As I looked through the cases of beautiful pipes, I had to watch myself, so that my stimulation didn't show through my trousers. Damn, I loved doing this, just going into a pipe shop, breathing in the delightful aroma of pipe smoke from the proprietor or a customer trying a new blend, and getting off on the beautiful creatures on display. This particular shop in Georgetown was my favorite. The entire left hand side of the store was lined with pipes on display in flat glass cases from floor to ceiling, with cigars on the right. Straight to the back were dozens of tins of various tobacco blends, with an old-fashioned balance scale for weighing the tobacco before dispensing it to customers. It had been in business for many decades, and had the feel of well-worn masculinity, like a favorite old pair of leather shoes. I had been a pipe smoker for some years but couldn't get up the nerve to smoke in public myself. I never understood why, but I just felt conspicuous and uncomfortable with it in public, as if I thought others could see the major turn on I was getting from my pipe. But no matter… I'd had a major pipe fetish all that time, and loitering in this place is all it took for me.
"May I help you?"
I turned and looked at the man who addressed me. There stood a rather young man, perhaps late twenties, with a thick black goatee, a slight gut starting, and an ever so slightly receding hairline. From his mouth he confidently puffed on a handsome briar, a bull-moose shape with a diamond shank. The smoke rose languidly up form the bowl, and he was clearly in his element
"Oh, I… Uh, I'm just looking." I said, feeling self conscious, as though I was projecting my arousal somehow.
"Certainly, feel free to browse to your heart's content. I'm Mike. Just let me know if I can be of any help." He returned my smile as he turned away, a trail of smoke flowing from him as he moved back behind the counter. I had to know more about this guy. Perhaps it was just because he seemed so self-assured with his pipe, without a trace of self-consciousness despite his age. I wasn't planning to buy today but I needed an excuse to strike up a conversation. I strolled over to the case nearest the front, where they kept the high end pipes, and asked to see a particularly expensive Italian bent with a terrific straight grain, and a fine, silver band that divided the gleaming black stem from the briar shank. My request did the trick, as he opened up and began espousing on the wonders of this particular brand, on pipes in general. I kept up well in the conversation, being no slouch when it came to my knowledge of briars. We must have chatted for close to an hour. Holding the pipe in my palm was giving me a major hard-on; its 3/4 bent shape was my absolute favorite.
"It's getting near closing time. I think were going to need to wrap this up. Would you like to take this home today?" He asked.
I was cornered. I really couldn't afford this pipe but how could I say no now? "Oh yeah, I'll take it. Thanks." He wrapped up the sale and began to hand me the bag containing my pipe, but hesitated. "Listen…I hope you don't think this is too forward, but I've enjoyed our little discussion. Would you care to continue it over a beer?"
I was a bit taken aback, but glad that he had asked. "Well, sure. Why not?"
He locked up the store and we left, strolling to a pub around the corner. I could see why he liked this place; it was dark but warm and inviting, with a couple of guys puffing on cigars. There was another guy drawing on his pipe as he sat at the bar, sipping a mug of beer. We got some beer of our own and found a leather booth near the back. Mike immediately pulled out another pipe, this time a Danish freehand, and began packing it with tobacco. I watched with rapt attention, as he put it to his mouth and lit it, with great clouds of smoke billowing over him. "Well?" he said.
Well, what?" I replied.
"Where's your pipe? I just spent an hour selling it to you, the least you could do is give me the pleasure of seeing you light it up," he grinned.
"In public?" I thought. "Me?" I hesitated, and said, "I don't have any tobacco with me."
He rolled his eyes and slid his leather pouch over to me. "Some pipe man you are. Go ahead."
I picked up his well-worn pouch, and took a good whiff as I opened it to catch the glorious aroma of his blend. I tucked my pipe into the moist tobacco and filled my new briar companion only part way, as it needed to be broken in. I gulped in anticipation of what for me felt like an act of exhibitionism, and put it to my lips. He held out his lighter, flicked it, and I drew in. The slightly off taste of a new pipe was more than made up for by the rush I got smoking it here it public.
"Very nice", he nodded. I'll make you into a pipe man yet." He said.
We got back into the pattern of comfortable conversation again, and had another beer, then another, and another. In the midst or our conversation, the subject veered back to pipes, as he gently stroked the sides of his bowl while he puffed. "Wouldn't it be cool to feel what this is like?" he asked.
"What what's like?"
"To be smoked. To feel the warmth of tobacco burning in you, cradled in a guy's hand. Have you ever thought about that?"
I feigned a puzzled look. "Well, no, I can't say that I have. That's a little bizarre." My face reddened as I tried to hide the fact that he was talking about my favorite fetish fantasy. I couldn't get up the nerve to admit to it, and had no idea there was anyone else who ever thought like this. I was somehow intimidated at the thought, and I took a long sip of my beer, mainly to force a break in the conversation. He dropped the subject, and ordered another round. We began talking about more everyday topics, the pressures of everyday life.
"When I get too wound up, I head for the woods. I inherited a great little cabin from my grandfather; its my sanctuary," he said. "You ought to come up sometime."
"That would be cool. I haven't had a break in ages." I replied.
"Really? Listen. I was planning to head up this weekend. Why don't you join me? A couple of steaks, some good conversation, a pipe or two, you'll be a new man. What do you think?"
The thought of kicking back was appealing. Besides, the idea of seeing this guy in his element, pipe in hand, doing the outdoor guy routine while I did the same, was giving me a little rush. My usual friends weren't into that sort of thing, and being around another guy who was as into pipes as I was, thinking nothing of my firing one up-even expecting me to- would be like a dream come true. "That sounds good to me." I said.
Mike picked me up in his truck Saturday morning. I threw my pack in the back, and hopped in. Just as we reached the fringe of town, he pulled out a pipe, this time a nice half bent, and lit it. Great billowing clouds filled the truck, and I practically lost it right there, trying not to show how much I enjoyed just watching. His pipe fit his face perfectly, and seemed to complete his look, despite his youth. He turned off the highway onto a side road, and the trail quickly became rough. We drove deeper and deeper into the hills.
"This place is really out there, isn't it?" I said.
"That's the whole idea!" he retorted.
We finally arrived, and he showed me around. The place was idyllic, and the scenery spectacular. When I walked inside the cabin, I was amazed at the perfection of the place. It was dripping with a masculine air, with rustic furniture and high ceilings. Naturally, my eyes zeroed in on a fine collection of pipes sitting on a rack on the stone mantel of the fireplace. "You have quite a collection," I said, studying them.
"One of the benefits of my job. Do you have many?" he asked.
"A few, but nothing like this. I'm afraid I'm more of an admirer".
"Oh yeah, you're a closet pipe smoker" he said, rolling his eyes. " You've gotta get over that."
We went on a long hike, enjoying the clean air and perfect weather. When we got back to the cabin, it was early evening. He offered me a beer, which I readily accepted. We both enjoyed a pipe and more good conversation, followed by dinner. Afterwards, he brought out the good stuff; some very fine scotch. He let me borrow one of his favorite pipes, to give mine a rest, and we continued our reverie. I was not used to the scotch, and it hit me hard. In no time I was beyond relaxed. The conversation gradually became more intense and I was having a hard time keeping focused.
"Remember the other night, when I talked about being a pipe, what it would feel like?" he said, as I cradled the warm satin bowl of his borrowed briar in my palm, my face flushed and warm from the alcohol.
"Uh…yeah, I recall", I said. "Why?"
"I have a game. It's sort of a hypnosis kind of thing. I can make you feel it. Feel what it would be like. It's an amazing illusion. You'd like that wouldn't you? I mean, I couldn't help but notice how turned on you were just looking at the pipes in the store. I have a feeling you've thought about it too, haven't you?
"Uh…no… I…"
"It's OK. You can admit it. It's just me here. We're two of a kind." He coaxed.
I was mortified. At the same time, I found my curiosity aroused and had regretted not talking him about this more the other night. "Well, you're right. I can get off just looking at a pipe." It felt kind of good to admit it to someone who understood.
"Come on. Want to give it a try?" he asked.
By now, I was losing all inhibition. I was dying of curiosity, too. "All right. Let's do it," I agreed.
He led me to the bedroom, my body heavy and lethargic now. Lying back on the bed, I quickly dozed off. When I awoke, perhaps only a few minutes later, I was startled to find my legs bound together, and my arms bound tightly against my sides. In my stupor I was having a hard time comprehending what was happening. I broke into a cold sweat. What happened? How had I let my guard down this much?
Just then Mike strolled into the room., smiling.
"What the hell is this? Let me out of these restraints!"
"Relax. I was just getting you prepared. I was planning to be a little further along before you woke up."
With that, he bounded to the closet. He pulled out some odd looking fabric, which was on a roll about 10 or 12 inches wide, and a large, silver ring. He brought it over to the bed, and began laying out the fabric. It was a medium brown, and rather dry and coarse to the touch. A pattern in it looked like veins of a leaf. This was clearly going to be bizarre, and I was beginning to panic. My heart was pounding and my mind raced, trying to think of a way to break myself free. I looked down and realized that at sometime while I was unconscious, he had slipped a jock-like contraption on to me, made of leather. As I puzzled over this, he left the room and shortly came back with a large tin.
"What's this? I asked, pointing to the jock.
"You'll see." With that he pulled back the jock, and proceeded to take out wads of sweet tobacco from the tin and stuff it into it. His pushing and tamping of the tobacco felt good against my skin, and he packed it tightly against my dick until the entire jock was bulging. Still, I was terrified of white might come next.
"Listen, I've changed my mind. I'm not really into this sort of thing. Let's just call it a night, OK?" I pleaded.
He said nothing as he took the odd fabric strip and began wrapping it around my legs beginning at my feet, tightly, like a mummy's wrap. He continued to wrap it up my legs, bending my knees as he did so. When he was finished it covered my entire lower body to my waist, and was so tight that I couldn't move my legs. Once it was in place, he took the big silver ring and slipped it up my legs, too, just up to my waist. Then he clamped the ring down tight on my waist, crimping it over the tail end of the mummy-like wrap. When he closed the last fastener on the ring, I was startled by a bizarre sensation coming form my crotch and pulsing outward into my legs. I could feel a sense of the tobacco in my jock warming, and I could smell a faint aroma of burning pipe tobacco.
"What the hell?" I stuttered, trying to comprehend the unfamiliar sensations emanating from my groin. As the warmth began to intensify, I could feel the wrapping tighten even further, like shrink-wrap exposed to heat. Mike began to gently stroke the fabric, and to my amazement, I could feel it as if it were my own skin! I moaned and rolled my head back in pleasure.
"Nice, isn't it? This fabric is actually a genetically modified form of tobacco. Tougher, and with uses all its own." He continued to stroke, and spoke to me as if trying to hypnotize me. "Let go. Feel your own skin bonding with the tobacco, forming new skin as sensitive as your dick. Imagine your whole body feeling this way, forever." I was getting lost in the ecstasy of it. I was writhing up and down now, in rhythm to his strokes, and barely able to pay attention what he was saying. "Wouldn't you like to stay like this?" he asked. "To have your entire body this sensitized, just a vessel for receiving and giving pleasure, nothing else?"
I was barely aware of his voice, lost in my own world. "Oh…yeah…." I moaned.
"Excellent." You're getting into the spirit of things. Focus on your new form. You want it don't you? To be a pipe, your legs becoming your stem, your body becoming briar? You want your lower body to be your pipe stem, don't you?. A nice full bent, your bit in my mouth, smoke curling from you?" I continued to writhe and moan, and he continued to stroke. I felt the sensation of an orgasm coming on, but it was as if it was overtaking my whole lower body, not just my dick. The smell of burning tobacco intensified, and I caught a glimpse of my tobacco wrapping glowing, as if red hot, over my whole lower body. The heat was searing, yet I felt no pain. Meanwhile it felt as if my legs were fusing together and hollowing out, and the sense of warmth was now flowing down through me. Smoke was rising from the wrapping as it continued to burn, and the heat reached the silver ring at my waist. With that I came hard, looked down, and was amazed to see smoke billowing in great bursts from where my feet had been. It was if I was cumming pipe smoke. After several amazing seconds, it was over. I was spent, terrified and exhilarated all at once.
"God, that was incredible! I've never felt anything like tha…" I froze in mid sentence, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. As the smoke cleared, I realized that my legs looked very different. The tobacco wrapping had burned away, and where my feet and legs had been, was now a continuous, smooth shining stem, with a sweeping curve from my waist down to my feet. Where my feet had been was now a slight ridge that looked remarkably like the bit of a pipe. "It looks so… real! I said, nervously. "What an amazing illusion!"
With that he smiled, knocked on the black curved form where my legs had been. It made a hollow plastic sound. I looked at him, terrified, looking for some indication that this was just a game, an illusion. He was slowly caressing the sweeping curve, and I could feel it as if it was my own body. "You know you've always wanted this. I was just giving you your wish. The heat from your tobacco covering has been like a crucible for your body, creating a chemical reaction, leaving behind an entirely new form to rise from the ashes. Shall we continue?" he said, grinning.
"No! This can't be real! It isn't possible!" I tried to move but with my lower body now inanimate and my arms bound, I couldn't do much more than rock back and forth. "Let me go!" I begged.
"To do what, go have a life as a half man, half pipe?" he laughed. " We've gone too far. You're about to enter a new life. Your only choice is to enjoy it. My boss at the shop has done this to hundreds of guys, all of them grateful for the transformation, and he taught me. You're my first. Think of it," he said, as he stroked my stem. "You're going to be a very fine 3/4 bent, with a gleaming curved stem, and a silver band where your stem meets your briar shank. That's your favorite kind, isn't it? You'll have a perfect straight grain, smooth satin bowl, and, you will be fully alive and aware of your surroundings. Can you see yourself standing up in the pipe rack, resting and waiting to serve? You will have a life beyond anything you ever imagined." As he stroked my stem I began to lose my resolve, slipping back into a state of half conscious, pure ecstasy. He picked more of the tobacco strips and began wrapping it at my waist, and tightly binding it as he moved up my torso. Part of me was terrified, but it was if I was in a dream from which I couldn't wake, and I could offer no resistance. Up he went, wrapping the rest of my torso.
He unbound my arms and bent them at the elbows and pressed them against the sides of my head. Then he pulled my head back as far as he could, so that my mouth was facing straight up. He took a wad of the tobacco fabric and stuffed it in my mouth, and then took more and did the same. My mouth was pushed open so far that it was dislocating my jaw. Then he finally wrapped the rest of me until I was encased entirely inside the tobacco cocoon, unable to see.
When he finished, he loosened the silver band at my waste and slipped the tail edge of the fabric beneath it, and I felt the pressure as he clamped it down. Again, once he re-clamped my silver band, the heat intensified, and the tobacco smell emerged. He stroked the tobacco encasing my upper body now, and from my waist to my head, I quivered with the sensation he created. I again began to feel the heat of the wrapping glowing and beginning to burn, starting its way up my waist, and I knew that in its wake my new form was being left behind, a briar shank where my torso had been. Now, as it burned further, I felt my arms, chest and head begin to merge together as if melting and re-forming in the heat. Then I realized that the wads he had stuffed in my mouth were beginning to burn, glowing red hot as I involuntarily sucked in as I tried to breath. I tried to resist, and coughed.
"No, go ahead and breathe it in. It's your nourishment now" he instructed. I was becoming short of breath and drew in a great gulp of the smoke. It felt good. I began breathing it in deeply and rhythmically. As I did so the burning intensified, and my mouth began to enlarge to the point where it dominated the form of my head. I realized that my mouth was becoming the opening in my pipe bowl, my palette and throat becoming its hardened, blackened walls as the tobacco seared them. I began to feel the same hollowing out sensation in my torso as I had in my legs in the last moments of their existence, and felt the thick, warm smoke coursing through me.
"Go ahead, let go. Feel your new form, your new bowl of fine briar, your whole body built only for pleasure" he said, as he stroked. "There's no turning back now. If you give in, you will feel an ecstasy beyond anything you could have hoped for as a human." With the thought of what I was happening to me, I could feel my whole body beginning to cum again, far more intense than the first time. As I lost control, smoke billowed from what seconds before had been my mouth but was now my bowl, and the last of the tobacco fabric wrapping was burned away, leaving my new form behind. The heat had hardened my flesh, leaving it rigid and inanimate, streaked with a beautiful grain. I was transformed into briar.
The tobacco continued to burn in my new bowl, which still glowed red-hot. Now I felt the smoke coursing through to my stem, and the heat intensified through my entire body. It was painful at first, as it became red-hot deep inside of me. "You need to be broken in." he explained. " The heat will be something you get used to very quickly. Soon, you will like the feel of your bowl glowing with red hot tobacco."
It was now so intense I was afraid I would burst into flame, every inch of my new body pulsing with the heat. The smoke flowed through me with ease, and I felt as though I was absorbing it into me. After what seemed like an eternity, the tobacco in my bowl was spent. The heat began to fade, and my pipe body slowly began to shrink as it cooled. After nearly an hour, I had shrunk to the size of a normal pipe. I could see now. Not through eyes, but all around me, as if my entire briar bowl had vision. I felt strange new thoughts coursing through me. All fear was gone, and replaced with a desire that I couldn't quite understand. Then I realized what it was. I wanted to be smoked. Now!
Mike picked me up and gently cradled me in his hand. He held me in front of a mirror to allow me to admire my new form. I was, as he promised, a beautiful full bent pipe, with a straight grain. The silver ring that he had placed at my waste was now the decorative band between my black stem and briar shank. The sight of what I had become should have horrified me, but with my new instincts kicking in, I loved what I beheld. He rubbed his thumb and index finger against my bowl, and it felt like heaven. Then he walked over to his tobacco, and thrust me in bowl first. The feel of his fingers pushing the tobacco in to me in careful, even layers gave me yet another rush. The anticipation was almost unbearable. He lifted me to his lips and closed his teeth against my hyper sensitive bit. I looked up into my new masters bearded faced, gazing at my body protruding from his mouth. "Could this get any better?" I thought… then it did. He flicked open his lighter, held it just close enough to my bowl so that I could feel the heat, as if he was teasing me, and then he drew in. I felt the rush of hot smoke pull through me, as the flame licked the insides of my bowl. He drew in again and again, puffing out great clouds as the tobacco came to burning life. It was again like an orgasm of smoke. Then he began to gently puff, letting the smoke slowly course through my warm briar and stem. He went into the living room and pulled out a book, reading as he held me in his teeth. For nearly an hour he puffed on me, and I could barely remember any other life. This is what I was always meant to be. Then, he set me down in his ashtray, leaning me on my side, where I gazed at him thumbing his book as I cooled. It was hard to believe that only hours ago I had been human. So this is how it's going to be from now on, I pondered. Existing only to provide and receive pleasure, serving my master. I found myself feeling grateful.
After I had lay there a while my new master lifted me, turned me and gently knocked the ashes out of me into the ashtray. He took out a pipe cleaner, and slid it up through me, its coarse fibers sending shivers through me. Then, he placed me in an empty spot in his pipe rack on the mantel, to await my next chance to serve him. I had no idea how much more than that lay in store for me.
Part 2
MY LIFE AS A PIPE (II)
As the days passed, I found my new life suited me perfectly. I loved the feel of the smoke coursing through me, of laying in a pipe rack, of being carried in Mike's breast pocket, next to his tobacco pouch. He often smoked me at work, which gave me the opportunity to spend time in my favorite place, surrounded by pipes and pipe smokers. Mike smoked me often, and I discovered that while he smoked me, we could read one another's thoughts.
"You are doing very well," he said on day, as he puffed me gently. "Clearly you were meant for this life. But you know, there's far more that you can do."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You have a great deal of power. Just as you were transformed, you can transform others. Anyone who smokes you will be subject to your will."
"I don't understand."
"What would you like to change about me?" he asked. "What would you do to me, if you could make any change in my appearance you wished?"
I looked up at him as he puffed. I imagined him older, with a bit of gray in his beard, thicker and fuller than it was now. Suddenly, he shivered, and closed his eyes.
"Now you're getting it." He said. Smoke began pouring from me into him, clouding his face.
Then, as I watched and the smoke began to clear, his beard visibly grew. Flecks of gray appeared! Had I done this?
"Yes, you did it. You're letting your instincts take hold. Before long, you will be amazed at what you can do." He said.
Over the next several weeks, I practiced on Mike. I found that with only a thought, I could gradually modify him any way I wished. I decided that I would like to see him as an older man, and slowly but surly made it happen. At first the changes were modest, but I got such a rush from it that I couldn't resist pushing further with him. I thinned his hair, made his beard silver gray, and gave him fine crows feet at his eyes. His gut grew over his belt, and his chin and jowls began to thicken. At first he resisted, seeing his youth fade, but as his new form took hold, I found that I could modify his mind, too. I made sure that he felt comfortable with his transformation, thinking and feeling like the man he was becoming. He came to enjoy the progress, waking each day to see what I had wrought. Before long he was a portly bearded gentleman of fifty or so. He stood in the mirror, with me in his mouth, puffing happily.
"You've done a fine job, my friend, I thank you. Of course, I was easy; while I didn't know where this would lead, I knew and understood what was happening. For others it will be more difficult".
"Others?" I thought. "What did he mean?"
He removed me from his mouth and I could no longer read him. He tapped me out, and placed me back on the mantel. I was left to wonder what his cryptic comment was all about. The next day, he removed me from my spot in the rack, and tucked me in the pocket of his tweed jacket, the type he now favored for going to work as part of his new look. We headed back into the city, and I realized he was going to work. He walked into the store, greeted his boss, who had watched his transformation with approval.
"So, is he ready?" his boss asked.
"More than ready. I think he's going to be one of the best." Mike replied.
"If his work with you is any indication, I think you're right."
Then Mike pulled me out, and began polishing and burnishing me. It felt great, but what was this about? He cleaned me thoroughly, and then strolled over to the case on the wall where the estate pipes were kept. He opened the case, and slipped me in to the display. I couldn't believe it! So many times I had admired the pipes in this case, never dreaming that it was my own fate. I felt betrayed. Was I going to be sold off, like any ordinary pipe? He closed the case and walked away. Leaving me behind. Why had he done this to me? Where was his gratitude for what I had done for him?
I sat there in the case for days. I was going crazy, being left alone, unsmoked and ignored.
Then one day, as I was beginning to lose hope, a young guy walked in. He was no more than thirty, with thick black hair expensively cut, and a clean-shaven face. He wore a designer pinstripe suit and starched shirt, with a leather briefcase. He was impeccable from head to toe, and looked like a lawyer. He walked over to the cigar displays.
"Hello, can I help you sir?" Mike asked him.
"Yeah, I need some cigars. Your best."
Mike proceeded to work with him on the sale, and the young man picked out some of the most expensive cigars available. As Mike rung up the sale, he said, "can I get you anything else? Need any pipe tobacco today?"
"Me?" the young man asked. "Do I look like a grandpa? No. I'll stick with my cigars, thanks." Mike looked the guy over, clearly enjoying the prospect of a challenge.
"We have some very fine estate pipes. Finest quality, fully broken in." he said, as he strolled over to my case. " Here, take a look at this one."
The young man was getting impatient. "No really, I need to be getting on my way. If I could just get my change…" Mike pulled me out of the case and held me out to him, placing me firmly in the guy's palm. Once in contact with this guy's skin, my instincts kicked into action. I sent a wave of thought through him, like a jolt of electricity. His eyes widened as he stared at me, unable to understand what was happening. He began to breathe more rapidly, his heart pounding. He stroked the sides of my bowl, and felt something stirring in him. The sight of me aroused him. "What's going on?" He asked himself. He couldn't take his eyes off me. Mike began explaining the virtues of the fine pipe he was holding, and the young guy interrupted.
"Ok, I'll take it" he said, not believing his own words.
"Very good." Have you ever tried a pipe before?" Mike asked him.
"No."
"Let me give you a few pointers." Mike then proceeded to pack my bowl with his tobacco, slowly and methodically, explaining to the young man the proper way to load a pipe. It seemed to take an eternity to the impatient customer, and to me, too. Just as he finished loading me, the young man snatched me from Mike's hand. Mike gave him his pipe lighter. The guy placed me in his mouth, fired up the lighter and drew in expertly. He closed his eyes and blew out through his nose and mouth as if he had done so a thousand times before, and smiled.
"Looks like you're a natural, my friend." Mike beamed. "Here are a few ounces of a tobacco blend I think you will appreciate. No charge." He rang up the sale, and the guy turned to leave, puffing on me absent-mindedly. "Don't forget your cigars," Mike said.
"Oh, yeah, those too." My new owner replied. He took his package and strolled out on to the street, his new pipe clenched in his teeth, already forever transformed into a pipe smoker. Things were looking up for me. This was going to be fun.
He strolled slowly back to work, in order to finish me before having to go inside. He tucked me into the pocket of his suit, and went back to his office. From his thoughts I had already discerned that he was an indeed a lawyer, and an ambitious one. His name was Nathan Matthews. Things had been going well for him, and it was clear that he was on the fast track to senior partner. Yet this particular afternoon he had trouble concentrating. All he could do was think about his new pipe, and about the next time he could smoke it. As soon as the workday was over, he rushed from the office, and pulled me out. He carefully packed my bowl, his heart pounding with anticipation. He fired me up and drew in, a sense of relief enveloping him. He headed for his train, completely un-self conscious about the pipe in his mouth. A colleague, a young paralegal named George who worked in his department, trotted to catch up to him.
"Hey Mr. Matthews, wait up!" George called out.
"Oh, hi, George. Hey, what do you think huh?" he replied.
"About what?" George asked,
"The pipe. How do I look?"
"Uh… well, I don't know, about the same I guess. It's not like I haven't seen you with one before."
Nathan was confused now. I was a little surprised too; I didn't yet realize how far reaching my transformations could be. Could it be that I could change not only a man, but also his surroundings, how others saw him? George continued to discuss their current case as they both headed for the station, but Nathan was barely listening. He was trying to keep this straight in his head. Had he done this before? Hadn't he just started smoking a pipe today? Was this some sort of strange déjà vu? His mind was as clouded as the air around him as he puffed on me.
When he got home, he plopped in his chair, his mind whirling form the day's events. He tapped me out in an ashtray, and stared at me. He stroked his chin, and for just an instant was startled that he felt no beard. "No, wait" he thought" I never had a beard…had I?"
The following morning he headed for work as usual, tucking me into his coat as if it was his old routine, smoking me on his way to and from the train. Later in the morning, his boss took him aside after a meeting.
"Nathan, normally I don't comment on my employee's appearance, but this is a conservative firm. That five o'clock shadow look may be trendy, but I expect partners in this firm to keep a respectable appearance. All right?"
Nathan reached up to his face and felt thick stubble. He had shaved that morning, but now it was like two days growth, at least. "Of course. It won't happen again" he answered to his boss, trying not to act surprised at his sudden change. What was going on? His job performance was slipping fast, as he became obsessed with what was happening to him. At lunch, he headed over to the tobacco shop. He burst in the door, ready to demand answers. The guy who sold him this pipe must know something, he thought. Before he could open his mouth, Mike addressed him.
"Well hello Mr. Matthews. Here to pick up your pipe I assume."
"My what?"
"Your pipe. The one you brought in for repair. I have it ready, good as new." With that he pulled out a well-worn sandblast, which somehow looked familiar to Nathan. " I gather you could use some more tobacco, too. Your usual blend?"
"Of course," Nathan replied, going with the flow. Maybe this is all real? He found himself starting to feel pleased and comfortable as he accepted this as normal. He looked at the display case in front of him, and a fine straight billiard pipe caught his eye. "Could I take a look at this pipe?" he asked. In no time it was his, along with a new pipe lighter. He left and headed back to work. I was making real progress with this guy.
Nathan awoke the next morning and strode to the bathroom to shave. He jumped back, alarmed at the thick black beard that greeted him in the mirror. He ran his fingers through it. It was luxuriant and full, and despite his shock, he smiled. No way he was going to work like this, but he had no desire to shave it off. He couldn't understand where these thoughts were coming from, or how this was happening, but he realized that when he just accepted it, a sense of euphoria came over him. He called in sick, then headed to the gym, and instead of his usual aerobic workout he headed for the free weights and pumped the morning away. Why hadn't he done this before? He asked himself. Stop asking, he thought. It feels good when you just let go…he had no way of knowing that I had planted these thoughts in him. He still believed in free will.
That afternoon, he went on a shopping spree. He headed for his favorite men's store, but none of the clothes appealed to him. He walked down the street and found another place, specializing in more casual attire. He bought several flannel shirts, some jeans, some suspenders, a nice ball cap, and a pair of work boots. He bought everything is sizes far too large for him, and while he couldn't understand why, he rolled with it. It was if invisible hands were guiding him. He tossed his purchases in the back seat of his BMW and got in. The car had been his dream car, but now it felt all wrong. To his own amazement, he headed over to a nearby dealership and traded it in on the spot for a 4x4. Again he felt a wave of pleasure washing over him as he contemplated his changes. He fired me up for the drive home. "Don't question it… it feels good…" I was telling him subliminally as he smoked me. He hopped in the drivers seat and pulled out. He flipped on the radio, which was set to a country station. He instinctively reached to change the station, then paused, and listened. This music that he always had hated was suddenly somehow sounding really good. He cranked it up and headed home.
He ravenously at a huge dinner, had a beer, and sat down in his living room. Such a sterile apartment… he thought…I should fine a place with a little more character…Again, he was ready for his favorite pipe, and I was ready to put things in high gear. As he lit me, he drew my smoke in deeply, savoring it. Suddenly he felt a pang in his gut. His joints began to ache and throb. He reached up and messaged his temples, trying to get a grip. "what the hell…" he wondered, as I began my work. His shirt felt tight now, too tight. He pulled it off briskly, snapping off buttons in the process. He was startled to see his gut bulging, growing before his eyes. He ran to the mirror, astounded to see his biceps expanding visibly. His eyes wide with fear, he unbuttoned his pants, sighing with relief in taking pressure off his now rotund middle. He was sweating profusely, now, still puffing furiously on me. He felt himself grow dizzy and sat on the edge of the bed. His arms were becoming like tree trunks, his legs now, too bulking up to an amazing size. He moaned in pain, feeling his body shift and grind against itself. The smoke was billowing from his mouth and my bowl in a haze as he puffed rhythmically, instinctively. Deep inside part of him wanted to stop, but he was losing control. His old self was slipping away. I was so deeply into the transformation that I was losing control too. I wanted to make it happen right now; make him into a radically different creature from what he had been. From a slick, educated professional to a burly, backwoods bear of a man. The thought of it thrilled me, and I knew that I was pushing him hard, but I couldn't stop now. I wanted to see the man I was creating emerge . The smoke was everywhere now, his body and mine connected and driving toward the inevitable conclusion. He smoked me down to the last. With that, he set me down, and collapsed on the bed.
He awoke the next morning, for a moment contemplating the amazing dream he had had. Then he rolled to get up. He found it took far more effort than before, and realized that it was no dream. He stood, towering over his surroundings, and looked down. He rubbed his hand on his massive gut, and noticed that his chest and forearms were now covered with dark hair. Then he lumbered his bulky frame over to the mirror. There before him stood a bear of a man, well over six feet, at least 250 pounds. His arms rippled with muscle. His beard was now thick and full, his hairline receded and graying, his face rounder and older by at least ten years. Even his eyes looked different; they were now a steely blue gray. He felt himself getting hard with arousal at the site, and realized that there had been massive changes there as well. He was amazed, yet somehow not surprised. It all felt so right! He showered, and put on his new clothes. Of course they fit perfectly. Why wouldn't they? He licked his lips, feeling a need. Then he realized that it was time for his pipe. Again he reached for me, eagerly filled me and lit up. He held me and realized that a pipe felt comfortable and normal in his palm. It felt like it had always been this way.
Now, he felt another need. He had to get out of town; he didn't know why or where but I did. He didn't bother calling in to work; he no longer cared about that place, and couldn't imagine being tied to a desk. He quickly packed a bag and went out to his truck, marveling at the feel of his heavy boots against the pavement. He got in his truck and headed for the open road with me in his teeth. Again he felt as if guided by someone else. He smoked furiously as he tried to get a grip, feeling his mind slip gears, his thoughts different from any he had before. I was working on his mind now, making the same dramatic changes in it that I had made the day before on his body. Soon, he would be so comfortable in his new life that he would barely remember his old one. As he reached the outskirts of the city, he instinctively got of on an exit that led to a winding, hill road. Before long, another sharp turn, then another, the road becoming rougher and narrower each time. He was climbing up the hills, into the woods, as if on a mission without having a clue what that mission was.
Then he reached a narrow turnoff, which he realized was a private driveway. When he reached its end there was a clearing, with a fine old cabin set on an outcropping. He stopped and stared, wondering why he was here. Yet he knew he had to go in. He wandered up the path to the front door, and noticed that it was ajar. He slipped in and looked around. It was a perfect hideaway, dripping with a masculine air, high ceilings, a fireplace, and a mantel filled with a great collection of pipes. He slowly walked over to them, studying them. He found them beautiful, sensual now. He began to reach for one, when he was thrown back into reality by a voice behind him.
"Well hello." said the voice.
Nathan whirled around. There stood a rather portly man, silver beard, his gut bulging over his pants, held up by suspenders. He was ruggedly dressed today, and carried in his hand several pieces of firewood. A fine Oom-Paul hung from his lips, smoke languidly curling up from it. Nathan found the man's appearance…very appealing…somehow. He recognized him as the guy from the pipe shop. The two men studied each other, knowing that not long ago, they were both very different men.
"Oh, hey man I'm sorry" Nathan said, startled at the deep gravelly voice emanating from him now. " The door was open, I wasn't tryin' to…"
"Nonsense. I've been expecting you. It is Mr. Matthews, isn't it? You've changed a bit since I saw you last." Mike said.
"Yeah, it's me. You can call me Nat, though. Don't have much use for formalities."
"Can I get you a beer?" Mike asked.
"That'd be great, thanks,"
Mike set down his load and headed for the kitchen. Nat sat in a comfortable chair and put his boots up on the ottoman, kicking back, more relaxed than he'd ever felt. He realized that he was here for a reason. It was all beginning to come together. Everything changed when he picked up the pipe that first time. He pulled me out of his shirt pocket and studied me, scratching his beard in puzzlement. Mike returned with the beer.
"Listen," Nat said, " I think you have some answers for me. I wanna know what the hell happened to me."
"Are you disappointed in how you turned out?" Mike asked, concerned. "I know it can take some getting used to. It certainly did for me. But I think you'll find it's for the best this way. With me, he merely accelerated what I was destined to become anyway, but with you, Nat, the changes are far more dramatic."
Nat thought about it. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. He watched himself as he fired me up, the smoke billowing out from him in a great cloud. How could he be disappointed? He felt more comfortable in his own skin than he ever had before. He couldn't imagine being that up tight, impatient guy that he used to be. "Disappointed? Hell no! I feel great. But I gotta know how you did it."
"Oh it wasn't me. It was your friend there." Mike said, pointing to me. "Please sit down. I'll tell you all about it."
They shared more beers and talked much of the evening away. Nat came to understand his fate. Mike offered to let Nat stay with him at the cabin as long as he wished, while he sorted out what he wanted to do with the rest of his new life.
"How can I ever thank you?" Nat asked.
"Oh, we can think of all sorts of ways." Mike grinned.
As for me, Mike convinced Nat to give me back to him, in exchange for a great collection of other pipes. I had done all I could for the both of them, and it was time for me to get a new owner. It's hard to believe how much I'm enjoying my new life. Like the two men I've transformed so far, I can barely remember being any other way. I'm back at the shop now, on display, watching and waiting for my next "project" to show up. If you're in the market for a pipe, you should take a look at the estate pipes section at your tobacco shop. Perhaps you'll get far more than you bargained for, if you're lucky.
END