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My first story, please be kind - (3 Parts)


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Ok, the thing I find really funny about this, is that I wrote it before I knew I had the fetish. Read it, and then laugh. How thick was I?

Tony was not having a good day. He was on a plane, on his way to Britain, and he could just tell that it wasn’t a good day. Tony didn’t like planes in general, but he thought he’d be ok on the two and half hour flight from Trieste to Heathrow. He was wrong; the couple sitting next to him, cutting him off from the aisle, had been talking for the last hour about what they’d do as soon as they got home. Tony tried to zone out, and turned away from them. Unfortunately, this involved looking out of the window; something he’d been attempting to avoid. He thought back to the check-in desk; it had all seemed so simple.

“Do you need to check in any bags?” the pretty airhostess had asked him in easy Italian. He’d nodded his head, anxiety already gripping him as he thought about the flight ahead, and handed over his suitcase. He answered all the security questions with no problems: he’d packed his bags himself, he hadn’t left them alone at any time, and no one had given him anything to put in. The last answer wasn’t entirely true: his mother had insisted that he take a woolly jumper, and had put it in at the last minute so that he couldn’t take it out. Tony considered telling the airhostess this, but decided against it, he didn’t think she’d be interested in jokes, and he really didn’t feel like talking much. His throat had been killing him that morning, and although it had got a bit better, Tony didn’t feel like pushing his luck today.

“Very good, Mr Callazzo, do you have any preference for your seat?” Here, at last was an important question. Tony nodded.

“An aisle seat, please.”

“I’ll see what we can do for you sir,” the airhostess smiled, “have a good flight.”

And he’d got his tickets and boarded the flight to find that he had a window seat. Even the middle would have been better, he thought despairingly. As Tony sat on the plane, trying not to look out of the window, or translate what the couple next to him was saying, the plane hit a patch of turbulence. Tony grabbed the armrest as the plane lurched suddenly downwards, trying not to yell. This was not good, this was really not good. The seatbelt sign flicked on, and he shut his eyes, desperately trying not to think about what could happen, what might happen to him in the very near future. Ten seconds after the turbulence stopped and seatbelt sign blinked off, Tony was in the tiny bathroom cubicle throwing up.

When he finished, his stomach completely empty, Tony looked at himself in the mirror. His first ever trip to Britain and he looked like an extra from a zombie movie. Really great start, he thought miserably, things can only get better. He couldn’t really have been more wrong.

Tony staggered off the plane, clutching his hand luggage, and stood waiting for his suitcase. He noticed how most people were giving him a wide berth, and realised he must still look really bad. He certainly still felt it: his throat had started hurting even more from the stomach acid he must have vomited and he was dying for a drink to get the awful taste out of his mouth. When his suitcase came by he grabbed it and headed for the exit as fast as he could lurch.

It wasn’t exactly an improvement when he realised it was pitch black and pouring with rain by the cab stop. Or that there were no free cabs. Before he left the airport, Tony fished out the hotel information booklet: Viking Hotel, three stars. He considered getting out the jumper too, he actually did, but decided against it. After all, this was Heathrow; there were always cabs. Fifteen minutes later, he wasn’t feeling so optimistic. Finally, he found a cab, got in it, and croaked the address of his hotel to the driver, his voice sounding nothing like his own.

Tony got into the cab cold, wet, and with a sore throat. He came out of it a coughing, sneezing, shivering wreck. He paid the driver and made his way gratefully into the warm, welcoming lobby of the Viking Hotel.

Checking in proved to be a little difficult, with his voice now almost completely gone. He managed to rasp out a greeting and his name, but after a huge bout of coughing the girl just pushed the form across the desk to him. Tony took it in relief and filled it in, realising as he did so that a splitting headache had somehow managed to creep up on him. He gave the girl his passport and credit card and once the transactions had been made, she gave him his key.

“Would you like me to call you a doctor?” she asked, smiling sympathetically, but with a disinterest that told him that she was just doing her job. It took Tony a few seconds to translate this quite simple sentence; his brain seemed to have slowed down, or maybe the cotton wool was just clogging it up. When he’d worked it out, he shook his head slowly.

“No. No, grazie,” he said hoarsely. She nodded and pointed to the lift ahead of him.

“Alright sir. Your room is on the second floor, the lift is over there.” Tony nodded mutely, and headed towards the lift. He took it to the second floor and stepped out, taking in the long corridor, red carpet stretching for ages in both directions. He glanced down at his key card, and with not a little difficulty read the number on it: 207. He looked at the doors opposite the lift: 275 and 274. Tony sighed and began the trek down the corridor towards his room. He wrapped his arms around his body, trying to warm up as he walked, but then sneezed violently, eeehChoo!, the sound echoing down the long corridor. A young woman just coming out of her room caught his eye and mouthed, “Bless you”. Tony smiled wanly in reply: perhaps Britain wasn’t so bad.

A few seconds later, when he actually found his room, he regretted even thinking something nice about the country he had gone to so much trouble to visit. His room was freezing, the reflection from a wide-open window blinking guiltily at him. Tony shut the door, and stuck his key card in the heating and air conditioning slot, already shivering with cold. His clothes were still soaked through from the wait at the cab stop, and he sneezed several more times, hehIShoo! EeehSHOO! Heh…heh…hiSHOOOO!! Eyes watering and nose running, Tony groped his way into the bathroom and got a piece of toilet paper to blow his nose. When he’d finished, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. A pale, sick looking young man stared back at him through red-rimmed eyes, his short, curly black hair still plastered flat on his head from the rain. Suddenly the bloodshot eyes narrowed and Tony sneezed again.

“HehISHOOO!! Dio, why me?” he groaned as his head started throbbing. He blew his nose again, and left the room to try and find a kettle. Tea, he needed a cup of tea. Tony didn’t fit the classic Italian stereotype: the black coffee drinker who never showed emotion. Tony preferred sweet tea, and although he was quiet, it was out of shyness, not masculinity. Mind you, Tony doubted if even Marlon Brando would be able to stay completely impassive and dignified with this cold. It had never quite struck him how totally inadequate that word was for the merciless attack that was currently being imposed on his body. He felt as though his head was full of spiky cotton wool, and his throat was real agony.

He managed to get about half way across the room before sneezing again, heITCHoo! and then had a massive coughing fit before he finally reached the kettle. Unplugging it, and still coughing, Tony was seriously adding not going straight to bed to his list of regrets, right underneath ‘not wearing momma’s stupid jumper’, ‘not bringing any aspirins or even cough sweets’ and ‘getting on the bloody plane at all’. When he’d got the kettle to the tap and filled it, and somehow got it back to the table, plugged it into the socket (a tricky task seeing as the socket was different and his eyes were streaming from this latest bout of coughing), he wobbled over to the dratted window and reached it just as the wind blew a huge gust of rain all over him. Swearing in Italian, Tony shut the window, and tottered over to his bed, collapsing on it with a sigh. He had just got comfortable (as comfortable as possible when he was still shivering uncontrollably) when the kettle boiled. Groaning loudly, then adding that to his list of regrets as his throat burned even more, Tony dragged himself from the bed before somehow reaching the kettle and finding a teabag to stick in the cup of boiling water. He was just reaching for one of the measly little pots of disgusting UHT milk when there was a knock on the door.

“Dio,” he groaned, wondering who on earth would want to talk to him at 10 o’clock at night, and whether he could bring himself to face them. He decided that he couldn’t, and sat on the floor by the kettle in silence. He heard the person’s footsteps start up again after a few moments, and tentatively staggered over to the door. It took more strength than seemed sensible to open the wretched thing, but when he did, Tony thought he’d found Aladdin’s cave: a half-full pint of real, full-cream milk was sat on a tray on the floor, alongside a pack of cold-cure paracetamol tablets and a tube of cough sweets. Tony glanced down the corridor, trying to see the person who had left them there. He thought he saw someone just turning the corner.

“Hey!” He tried to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. The person heard him though, and turned around. It was the woman he’d passed in the corridor, the one who had mouthed ‘bless you’ at him. He tried to smile, but wasn’t sure if he’d managed it, and beckoned for her to come over. She did so, nervously, looking as though she was almost regretting what she’d done. If, in fact, she’d done it, because Tony realised he had no proof. But who else knew him here? The girl at reception, but he doubted she’d do this. The young woman approached, and it was Tony’s time for nervousness. He’d never been good at talking to girls, and now he was going to talk to someone he’d never met before, in English, a language he wasn’t very good at (or so he thought, in fact Tony was extremely good), and he wasn’t even sure that his voice would work, it hadn’t been particularly reliable so far. He gave an experimental cough. The young woman had reached him.

“Hi,” she said. Tony noticed that she was really very pretty, with short light brown hair and blue eyes. She was about his age too, and he felt even more self-conscious about talking to her. She didn’t even know he was Italian, he thought desperately, she’ll be expecting someone English.

“Hello,” he said hoarsely, his heavily accented voice louder than he had expected. Dio, he thought, what will she think? What should I say? Taking the bull by the horns, he pointed at the tray. “Did you leave these?”

She nodded anxiously. “I hope you don’t think I was being rude. I thought you might like them. I hate that UHT milk, and I’ve got another carton, so I thought you might like it.” She was blushing furiously. “I’m Ellie,” she said firmly, thrusting out a hand. “I’m in room 253.” She gave him a nervous smile.

Tony took her hand and shook it. “I’m Tony,” he managed croakily. “Thank you…thank you very much for the…the things. You…didn’t have to…” he wasn’t sure how to continue. He felt a pain begin behind his eyes, and knew he was going to sneeze again. Please no, he thought desperately, not in front of her. Ellie was still standing there looking lost and unsure what to do.

“It was no trouble, really,” she mumbled as Tony stood there, pinching the bridge of his already red nose in an attempt not to sneeze. “I...I’ll get back to my room,” she finished lamely.

Tony wasn’t in any mood to argue, even though he would like to know more about this kind, pretty girl who had been so generous. But he knew her name and her room number, that would be enough he thought. Just one more thing. He nodded, then asked, “are you staying here alone?”

Ellie looked surprised. “Yes,” she said simply. “I’m here for a week before my friend can get her flat sorted for me to move in.” She turned a little away from him, “bye then.”

Tony nodded again, and released the bridge of his nose to speak. “Goodbye. I’ll-I’ll see you a-” the sneeze he had felt coming on erupted suddenly, “ISHHOOO!!!”

“Bless you,” Ellie smiled ruefully at him as he stood, one hand still covering his nose and mouth, dreadfully embarrassed. She pointed at the packet of paracetamol on the tray, “I’d take two of them before you go to bed, otherwise you’ll be up all night,” she advised.

Tony nodded, “goodbye,” he said, still uncomfortable, and she gave him another smile, before turning around completely and making her way back down the corridor.

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Aww, what a cute story! I really enjoyed it :drool: The fact that you didn't know you had the fetish when you wrote it makes it even cuter, somehow :hypoc:

Thanks for sharing!

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Aww, what a cute story! I really enjoyed it :rolleyes: The fact that you didn't know you had the fetish when you wrote it makes it even cuter, somehow :hypoc:

Thanks for sharing!

Um, what she said! :drool:

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Oh that was so cute! Thank you so much for sharing. It's funny how our minds know we have the fetish before our brains make the connection, isn't it? I hope to read more from you very soon.

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Lovely. And just think what you will be able to add now thsat you know that you are a fetishist.

Do you mean to say that you spelt sneezes out before you knew why? It took me years to work out how much I enjoyed doing that.

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That poor Tony. I wish I were Ellie !

And I am so glad to read that it was not only me writing those story before finding out about sneeze fetishism ...

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arrrr what a fab story! and even better that it was done b4 u knew about your fetish! you are fab at writting keep it up and look forward to reading more :D

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Do you mean to say that you spelt sneezes out before you knew why? It took me years to work out how much I enjoyed doing that.

Ah, no, I did actually intend to mention that somewhere...memory...I added them in when I was going to post it up. At the time, I didn't spell them out.

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Okies, part 2:

Tony woke up next morning and deeply regretted it. Thanks to Ellie’s paracetamol, he had at least got some sleep, but he didn’t feel much the better for it. Sitting up, he wondered what he was going to do with himself. He didn’t feel like talking at all, let alone in a foreign language. He considered going to a large library he had spotted on his map nearby. Slowly getting out of bed, he fumbled with the switch to turn the light on.

Click. As soon as the light hit his eyes, Tony’s breath started to hitch.

Heh…heh….hehISHOO! He sniffed despondently, and dragged himself out of bed. No sooner had he switched the light on in the bathroom, than the same thing happened again. Watching himself in the mirror, Tony saw his eyes narrow and his large black eyebrows pull together, in almost comical consternation.

Heh….heh….hehCHOOO! He shivered violently, snifflng again.

Several sneezes later, and feeling like death barely warmed up, Tony sat curled up on his bed, sipped at a very good cup of tea, and considered his options. He could stay in the hotel all day, and ignore the fact that he was completely wasting his savings to come here. Tony sighed, not appealing. Option 2, the other extreme: he could knock on Ellie’s door and see if she wanted to take him sightseeing. Tony felt his nose tickle again. Carefully putting the cup down, he fumbled in his pocket for a tissue. Too late.


Sighing heavily at the spray on his hands, Tony pulled a tissue out and wiped them. He was definitely not going to risk doing that near Ellie. The option of the library was looking quite promising: he wouldn’t have to talk much, and could sit in a corner and read, so he’d be improving his language a bit. Tony nodded, wincing at his headache, and pulled the map across, working out how to get there. A right, a left, and another left; a ten minute walk, max. He pulled on his horrendous jumper and set off, pausing only to blow his nose again.

25 minutes later, with the cold October wind going straight through his knitted jumper, and wishing he had just stayed in his bedroom, Tony stumbled into the Molière Library with a sigh.

“No food or drink in here please.” A dragon of a librarian sat at a desk opposite the main door, eyeing Tony’s emergency water bottle with contempt bordering on suspicion, as though he had brought it specifically to throw on the oldest and most valuable manuscript in the place. Stifling a cough, Tony placed it carefully on the desk in front of her and wandered off in a random direction. Unfortunately, there weren’t any available corners, and the only free desk was alarmingly close to the front desk, in easy view of the eagle-eyed librarian. Running a hand distractedly through his mussed-up black curls, Tony put his bag down on the nearest chair, and headed off into the history section.

By the time he returned five minutes later, arms weighed down with a couple of large British history books (Tony’s degree was on British history, specifically the medieval age), Tony wasn’t so sure he was going to manage in the library. Everyone seemed incongruously quiet: he had felt noisy just pulling a book off the shelf. If he couldn’t have water, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he coughed. And if he sneezed…putting the thought out of his mind hurriedly, Tony put the books down, sat on the chair, got up from the chair quickly and removed his bag from the chair, sat down again, and opened the first one, skimming through to the index to find medieval history.

A cloud of dust flew up from the large volume, straight towards him. Immediately Tony’s nose started to tickle painfully. He rubbed his nose hard with the back of his hand, trying desperately to ignore it. He could feel the demonic librarian watching him, or at least he thought so. He didn’t dare look up. Taking another breath, the tickle intensified, stabbing pain behind his eyes. Irresistibly, Tony’s breath hitched, and at the last moment he pinched his nose shut, rocking forward in his chair with a painful huhKMPF! Slowly releasing his nose, and swallowing hard to clear his ears, Tony glanced around. The librarian was glaring at him, as he ashamedly pulled out a tissue and blew his sore nose as quietly as possible. Sniffling, he found his place on the page and tried to concentrate on what he was reading, pausing now and then to look something up in his Italian-English dictionary.

Time crept by as Tony made notes on the medieval ages in Britain, having to stop every few seconds and wipe his nose. He was fast running out of tissues. Suddenly he felt the tickle return, but a lot stronger this time. Tony barely had time to turn away from the library book, and the librarian, and put his hands in front of his face.

HahCHOO! HahISSHoo! Huh…huh…huhISSSHooo! HahCHOOO! He would have groaned if he hadn’t been afraid to make any more noise. He grabbed the tissue from the table and blew his nose for what felt like the hundredth time already, bright red from embarrassment.

“Tony?” A voice. A girl’s voice. Tony turned around. Ellie, the girl he had dreamt about for the whole of the last night, was standing just inside the doorway. He wondered for a moment if he was having a hallucination, and then noticed the librarian’s livid expression. He wouldn’t have dreamt such detail. He tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. Ellie walked over quickly.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” There was a lot of sympathy in her voice, and concern as she looked at him. Tony shrugged.

“I’m ok,” he mumbled congestedly, and meant to add more, but his throat, not having been used all day, seemed to close down, and he broke off coughing harshly. Ellie winced, and put an arm on his shoulder. He stopped abruptly, and she took it off as quickly as she could.

“Sorry. Look…let’s get out of here…come for a coffee, or something…I know a great place.” She was babbling, she knew, but there was something about this guy that just made her want to take care of him. He was so…alone. The fact that he was 6 foot, dark haired and skinned, with a great body had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all…

Tony looked up, eyes watering. He could do with some noise, and a drink. Tea though. Lucky he’d come to England really. He nodded slowly, trying not to make his head throb. “O-ok. Let me return these books.” He picked up the largest book. Ellie nodded and picked up the other one, following Tony down the aisle to where he had found them. As he crouched down and slid it back, another cloud of dust rose. Turning away from Ellie quickly, Tony pulled out a tissue just in time, heh-TCH!

“Bless you,” said Ellie, smiling at him. Tony blushed, and followed her as she led the way out of the library, remembering to pick up his water bottle from the front desk.

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Ah, library sneezes, echoing seductively across the silent , disapproving vaults. I hope there is more to come; the historic sites of London; sneezes in the Bloody Tower...

Interesting about the speltout sneezes; an added homage to the fetish, really.

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More to come indeed, although where it's going I have to say I don't quite know yet...

They walked out into the bright, or at least bright-ish sunlight, Tony wrapping his arms around himself to keep as warm as possible. The light hit his face and he felt his nose tickle furiously. Please not now, he prayed silently, sniffing hard, and trying to ignore it. Ellie was a little in front of him, walking confidently through streets that she seemed to own. Unable to stop himself Tony bobbed forward, sneezing harshly huhCHOOO!! Ellie stopped and turned back, smiling friendlily at him.

“Bless you. Your cold still bad?” Tony was blowing his nose so he only managed a nod. She took a step back towards him, and only when he was finished, started walking again, in step. Tony shivered, and suddenly felt very light-headed, and started wishing he’d taken some paracetamol that morning. He slowed down a little, and put his hand to his head. Ellie slowed as well, and looked at him concernedly. “Hey…” She put an arm out to steady him, putting it firmly behind his back. “Ok, it’s just round this corner, can you get to there?” Tony nodded, trying not to make himself dizzier, and they set off, Ellie still with an arm around his back, because she couldn’t reach his shoulders.

They got to the café, a small, unassuming place with lots of little tables outside. None of them were occupied on this chilly day, but the indoors was warm and cosy. The smell of roasted coffee and chocolate accosted Tony’s senses, reminding him strongly of home. And making his nose itch. Ellie led him to a table just inside the door, and waited until he’d sat down. “Are you ok?” She asked. Tony nodded again. He didn’t seem to be doing a lot of talking. “What do you want to drink?”

“Tea,” he croaked. Her eyebrows raised, and then she smiled and nodded, before leaving to place the orders at the little bar. Tony sniffed, rubbing his knuckles roughly under his nose, trying to stop it itching, but getting a tissue out with his other hand just in case. Suddenly someone else opened the door, the little old-fashioned bell tinkling merrily. The cold air was too much for Tony’s extra-sensitive nose.

HehChOOO! HehISSShooo! Heh..heh…hiSHOOO! He sighed miserably, blowing his nose yet again. Glancing up he saw Ellie at the bar looking at him sympathetically. Bless you, she mouthed at him. Tony smiled. Maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all.

Soon afterwards Ellie brought two cups of strong, sweet tea over. Tony cupped his between his hands, trying to warm up a bit more, and put a sugar lump in. He was really glad he had come to England. Ellie watched him shyly from under her eyelashes. She really didn’t know why she found it so attractive, but every time he sneezed she felt…she couldn’t explain it. She smiled at him.

“I thought Italians liked coffee?” Tony grinned. He’d been asked that question so many times, but from her it wasn’t too annoying.

He shrugged. “I guess I’m the black sheep.” He felt rather proud of himself, he’d used an idiom. His voice, though normally heavily accented, was even thicker because of his cold, and it took Ellie a moment to understand. Then she smiled.

“Like me. Everyone in my family have been artists or musicians or something arty. I just like books.” Tony grinned sheepishly. They had something in common. It hadn’t occurred to him why she’d been in the library, but this explained it.

“Me too. That’s why I wanted to come to England, partly. You have some great writers. And poets. But I’m studying British history so…” Tony broke off, feeling his nose itch furiously. He put a hand up to Ellie, “excu-” then turned to the side quickly ehISSHooo He quickly pulled a tissue out of his pocket.

“Bless you.” There it was again, that strange feeling. Almost like…Ellie shook herself, it must just be because she liked him. Tony gave a shy grin at her.

“Thag you.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to think of something to say. He took a sip of tea instead; and closed his eyes, amazed at how good it was; he couldn’t get anything so good in Italy.

“You like it?” Ellie was watching him carefully. He nodded deeply.

“It’s great. Real tea for once.” He sniffed, trying not to make it too loud, and drank some more tea, watching Ellie watching him. He was trying not to think about how pretty she was, and why she should be bothering with him. She was trying to work out whether she wanted to take him home and look after him or take him home and…

Suddenly Tony went dizzy again. Shakily he put the teacup down and put one hand to his head. The room started spinning. Ellie stood up and came up to him at once, a hand on his shoulder. “Tony? Tony, are you ok?” He shook his head confusedly, trying to clear it. She crouched down at his level, and took one of his hands in hers, the other one still on his shoulder. “Ok, just breathe slowly ok, stay with me.” Taking deep, measured breaths, Tony saw the spots in his vision recede slowly. Blinking, he looked at Ellie.

“Thank you.” She shrugged.

“Do you want to go up to the hotel now?” He nodded slowly, and she helped him stand up. When they’d left the café, she made him stop. “Let me put my arm through yours,” she said, demonstrating as she did so. “British culture. Then it won’t look like I’m helping you walk.” And they walked back to the hotel in silence, Tony still trying to keep himself from passing out.

By the time they were in the lift together, Tony felt almost himself again, and deeply embarrassed by the whole ordeal. He looked at Ellie shyly. “I am sorry about that.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault being ill.” She didn’t look upset about it at all, smiling reassuringly at him. He suddenly knew he needed to sneeze. Surrounded by mirrored walls, it wasn’t the best place. He turned away from Ellie, pulling a tissue out of his pocket.

EhhISSShooo! HehCHOOO! Heh…hehCHOOO! Sniffing furiously, he blew his nose.

“Bless you.” Ellie was sure what the feeling was now, and felt almost as embarrassed as Tony in the lift.

“Thanks.” They reached their floor with feelings of relief, and Ellie walked with Tony down to his room. She stopped outside. He made to speak.

“I won’t come in. But look after yourself, ok? And call me if you want anything. Room 253 remember?” Tony nodded, letting himself into the room. Once the door had closed he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, not bothering to change, and fell asleep.

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  • 4 years later...


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