Hello dahlings!!!
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 berrydakara@gmail.com
Without further ado, here's our first installment...
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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.