A woman with a fine cigar,
leaves everything to the imagination

The masculine phallic symbol puffed on by luscious red lips, sends smoky messages across the room as a ghost yearning for sexual encounter. 

A sip of Chivas Regal, and she tilts her head as the beautiful Lotus flame lights her Nicaragua cigar. She rolls it with finesse and puffs in rhythm of perfection. 

Gray smoke, as if in slow motion, glides out of her mouth and drifts off into oblivion. With eyes closed, she enjoys the taste of the nights delights, and she embraces the fantasy of lust, from the gentlemen across the bar. 

She glances down at her vintage Vacheron Constantin watch, and notices time is passing by quickly. The sultry jazz beating in her bosom calls for attention. So she slowly glides with one foot in front of the other, across the terrazzo floor and walks right up to his arrogant statuesque form. A few tatts here and there and she sizes him up as a “naughty boy”. 

Maintaining a long ash at the tip of her cigar was a talent she inherited from an old lover. She smirks impressively, his ash is just as long. Then he whispers with smoke oozing out of the side his soft alluring pink lips, “I suppose you are here for me”.