Nipples, beer, and a new kind of cigarette..

As I sit here lighting another cigarette I wish there was a new kind of smoke, one that was bolder, or different. I light this one not because I like or even enjoy it but because it’s what I do. Call it addiction, or habit, or slavery, or whatever; it is what it is.

I think part of getting older is a dulling of the senses.

I remember when I was a boy and my brothers and I would snitch one of Moms cigarettes, sneak it down to the basement, gather around the hot water heater and roll up newspaper, and light a fire from the burner to light the stolen cigarette and pass it around. Damn that was a good smoke. That was a good time.

I think I was about 16 when I went into a grocery store in Cimmaron Kansas. I don’t remember what I bought but I remember when the clerk bent over I could see right down her top; the image was seared into my brain and even now a thousand years later when I close my eyes I can see the plain white bra that was a little too big and the hint of nipple that peeked out at me, as if to say “Oh look at me, didn’t expect this did you?”

I remember the first time I jerked off. I remember the first time I got my finger wet. I remember my first dance, my first feel, my first sex, my first lover, my first BJ, my first dirty book, the first time I fell in love. I remember my first broken heart, my first car, my first computer, my first gun, my first crime, my first prison sentence.

I remember learning to drive in a monstrous pink ford Thunderbird. 

I remember my first car crash, my first job on a shrimp boat. I remember my first flight. The first time my 1^st wife cheated on me and the first time I cheated on her.

I remember my first apartment, my first job, my first car and first truck. So many things and I remember the magic of every one of them.

As I look back over my lifetime so far; at all of the different J. Swaneys I wonder if my changes are coming to an end. Have I finally crystalized once and for all? Or will I again cocoon up and re-emerge different and exciting.

I’m older and supposedly wiser, and quite frankly I miss the high. The rush of something completely new and unexpected. Life has become predictable and I can understand why some people do foolish things when they are my age.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not unhappy or dissatisfied. Honestly I am one of the luckiest people I know. I have a great family. I live in a beautiful area. I can’t remember the last time I was hungry. I am actually surrounded by, married to, and related to beautiful people, the kind of people I never even imagined having the nerve to speak to. I’m a lucky and appreciative man.

But..

I can understand a mid-life crisis. A sports car, a young lover, cocaine, a small business, political obsession, strippers, whores, alcoholism, or any of the other things that trip men my age up.

I see it all around me and recognize it for what it is, so I’ll take a pass, but I can understand it. 

I remember when I was younger and working in Brownsville Texas in this huge un air conditioned tool and die shop. It was so fricking hot. You don't even know. Brownville TX in the summer has temps over 100 degrees, with humidity above 80. Anyway this buddy and me used to get off work, go to this store that he knew of that had a walk in cooler that had beer that was like 30 degrees, we would buy a 12 pack get back into his truck, drive to his house, sit in the driveway, crack open the cans, pour salt and tabasco sauce on the rims, and then slam the beer. It sounds lame but it was simply amazing.

Remember the first time you ever shot tequila, licked the salt from your hand and bit the lime? The burn of the alcohol, the bite of the salt, and then the explosion of the lime; it was like a roller coaster for your mouth wasn't it?

But… if I jumped on my bike, went to the store bought some top shelf tequila, stopped at the market, bought a few limes, drove home, and did some shots, or even went to the bar, right this second… it just wouldn't be the same.

Is my tongue different; is the tequila? Or is it me?

                  

Anyway, there really isn't a point to this post or a moral to this story.

I guess I’m just ready for the next best thing, or at least a new kind of cigarette.

J. Swaney