My First Kiss

My lips

I liked him. Maybe because I didn’t know him that well. He used to hang around the boys a lot and carried himself with a certain sense of pride. Like somehow he knew he was better than them and they agreed. He was well spoken. Maybe a bit better than the boys, they were okay. I had not really noticed him before until that day. For some random reason he spoke to me. He was interested. Asked questions about me, what I wanted in life, my age and what I thought of the boys. We carried the conversation with such ease and it was at that moment when I realized he was actually a cool guy.

We were always quick to judge. Especially these ‘punk’ kids who would walk with a certain air around them as if to say ‘we are better than you’ and we would allow it. Maybe this justified the judgment and we didn’t feel like we had gotten the shorter end of the stick. He was one of those punk kids. New sneakers almost each Sunday, silver chains on his neck, this huge wrist watch that looked like it weighed more than my head, belts with weird looking buckles which I really didn’t like, of course Ray bans and he had well fitted shirts that showed off his work at the gym. That air around him seemed like a cloud he had inherited at birth. His confidence was everything. He laughed with a certain elegance as if he had taken classes on how to appropriately laugh. Everyone thought he was sophisticated.

So, back to this day. It was a Sunday afternoon after a confirmation ceremony that took place at one of our sister churches when we gathered at a friend’s house for lunch. Normally, I would have been in the kitchen, but this was our special day. A couple of us had just been confirmed and were cleared to partake in the sacrament ritual from there on out. I had been late to the party as most of my friends, the boys included, had been part of this ritual since they were ten. Let’s say about 8 years late. I was in a long white skirt which made me uncomfortable, a white top and a scarf. It was an all-white affair. That is how the conversation was sparked. The discomfort. We carried a conversation that entire afternoon touching on various topics. He made me comfortable enough to open up. We laughed. At the end of the day we exchanged contacts.

We texted that night and I invited him for lunch the next day. Hold on the judgment, let me explain. During the lunch a couple of people had mentioned how they wished I was the one cooking and that got him curious. Yes I’m a Kikuyu and I know how to cook (not boil lol). He suggested I invite him for lunch and I was only available that Monday. All caught up? Cool, let’s go on. He came through for lunch we talked more about life, my plans, what he was doing with himself and the works. He would laugh at the weird things I’d say, I guess to flatter me. I know I’m not funny but I can be weird. Which he didn’t seem to mind.

It came out of nowhere. I was on those lone, one man sofas near the door and he was on the 3 seater just next to it. We were talking when he turned and planted one on me. It was wet. I didn’t know exactly how to react so I just stared. I am not sure how he wanted me to react either. I didn’t say anything, I just stared. I waited for him to say something and after the awkward silence he mentioned that he wanted to leave. My lips still felt wet and I figured wiping them with the back of my hand in his presence would have been disrespectful or some bullshit like that. I got up, went to the kitchen and drunks a glass of water. Came back and asked if I could escort him to the stage. We texted later that night and the kiss never came up.

We carried on like it never happened. He would still laugh at my weird unfunny jokes. He still looked mad sleek in his fitting shirt and gym body. Around 4 years after the incident, the boys and I were chilling when he looked at me and said ‘you know you were supposed to be my girlfriend’ to which I responded with a smile and a change of topic.