Soooo I'm introducing what I hope will become a new feature/series on my blog: FIRST KISS FRIDAYS. Readers are encouraged to send stories of their first kisses ever, first kisses with boyfriends/girlfriends, ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, handsome/beautiful strangers, husbands/wives, you get the idea... It will be TOTALLY ANONYMOUS so feel free to divulge!
UPDATE: Please send your stories to email@example.com
Without further ado, here's our first installment...
|I know my design skills need a LOT of work|
If my heels were an inch or two lower, I’d have taken the steps two, maybe three, at a time. The elevators were taking forever. Rush hour office traffic, I deduced. Not giving myself enough time to mull over it, I began my descent via foot from the 4th floor. Exercise, I kidded myself. That’s the reason you’re taking the stairs. I didn’t time myself because this was no race to the finish line…, no 100m dash, no 50m freestyle. However, I am certain it took less than 90 seconds from the time his TV-series-inspired name flashed across my blue Nokia Lumia, to when I sauntered (okay, maybe jogged) out of my office building – blue, heavy lunch bag filled with my healthy versions of yummy Nigerian food swinging by my side – for my “lunch break.” A girl’s gotta eat, right?
The July sun was out in all its summer glory. Bright, scorching, unforgiving. The wind blew today, quite unusual given the time of day. In the distance, I could hear horns blaring, cars accelerating way past the speed limit (whatever that was), and garrulous pedestrians going about their daily routine.Walking out of the familiar brown gate, I searched for his car. Its bright color made it as conspicuous as an elephant in a china shop. He beckoned, and I immediately felt my pace quicken and a smile escape my lips. Slow down. I did, slowing my steps to my usual catwalk. I talked to myself often, and this time was no different.
He leaned over to open the door and in one swift, graceful movement (okay, maybe two), I was seated in the passenger’s seat. After pleasantries, compliments and hugs were exchanged, he drove to a quiet spot underneath what appeared to be a palm tree, with fronds the length of a small sized trailer. It was a residential area, so it was fairly quiet. Fairly, for nowhere in Lagos is completely void of noise. He must have told me I looked beautiful more than a dozen times. My cheeks suffused with blushes as I shot down his remarks with several objections of “Noooo! I’m okayyyy!”and “Stoooop it!”
I unpacked lunch – sweet potatoes, plantain, spicy sauce with huge chunks of chicken, and sautéed vegetables – while he opened the big green bottle of sweet, red wine he promised to bring. “Alcohol at 2 in the afternoon??” I chided him. I knew the glint in his eyes was as a result of the food, not me. The boy loves his sweet potatoes! More compliments came. “This tastes absolutely delicious. I can’t believe you made this for me.” (umm, I didn’t, bro, but who’s checking anyway?). “You’re so pretty.” (thought we were talking about food, no?).
After we both overate (goodbye waistline!) and the potatoes began their descent to digestion, conversation ensued. I stared at his wide, seductive smile that displayed rows of nicely-shaped teeth. Stop staring at his mouth. Stop staring, I compelled my voluntary system. I was not given enough time to achieve this because, before my obstinate eyes could settle on a different target, his lips met mine – so subtly, so quickly, so gently. I must have floated to the top of the tree we were parked under, for even after he pulled back to examine my face while flashing that smile I’ve grown to love, I was still leaning in, eyes closed, lips puckered and mind a muddled, beautiful mess.