I kissed a girl in a market.
Lol, and No it wasn’t at Terminus or Bukuru market.
I was about 21 years old then, I had access to a little red Corolla car, that “gindin hajiya” type. It allowed us not to touch pop’s car even though we drove his own more times than the art of secrecy will allow me to divulge.
I know people who will swear on oath that I nearly killed them with my horrible driving. In my defense, the car wasn’t totally fit.
Sha, this is my story to share, and the name of the other participant will remain classified. Not because she’s so innocent as to warrant protection, but because I don’t want some of you having the wrong ideas. I’ll however be calling her Jemimah. In case you don’t know, I love the name Jemimah.
I know for people in other climes, this is normal. In Nigeria? Yaron COCIN? Lol, I might get excommunicated for this confession.
Jemimah is a fair beauty. The type some people strive to be like at all costs. We met under one of those climes that shall remain nameless, and we agreed from the beginning that we were both fine people and we would be finer together.
She liked my shyness, and she swore to make me un-shy! I think she ruined my innocence, but in her defense, pikin way want spoil go spoil.
We met in corners that were unchristian like, broke bread that was brownie and drank deep from the waters of life.
It was a blissful day when we shared our first kiss. I had strategized about that one, and I thought it would be in places compatible with the status of young people hiding their lust from the world at large. I probably wanted it in the night, so my hands could stray to places up high but alas there I was getting tried for shyness.
As we leaned on my rickety, me whining about how far Jebbu Bassa was and she smiling into my face mischievously. I carelessly uttered, “stop looking at me like that, I’d want to kiss you”. Barely had the words left my mouth when she leaned in, stretched on her lanky legs and planted one of the softest kisses ever on my lips.
It tasted like eclairs. The eclairs of old, it had chocolate and reminded of things long forgotten. Lots of chocolate, and that buttery milk in the middle. If I had expectations they were surpassed. It stirred a third leg in me, and bulged parts that should’ve been flaccid. If I wanted more I showed it as I sucked the life out of her tongue. “Naughty boy!” she smiled with a naughty grin. “I want more!” I said like an older version of Oliver Twist with an insatiable longing. “What’s stopping you?” She queried with a quizzical look”.
This conversation probably birthed the straightforwardness in asking for contraband things I wanted.
As I lifted her chin and stared into her sleepy brown eyes. I took greedily that which had been given freely. I drank deep from those waters as if they were an elixir.
Indeed they felt like things Wole Soyinka brews when he writes and El Nathan John drinks when he spews sarcasm. They were divine as they touched all the senses, and electrified parts that I didn’t envision could move.
As she moaned in ecstasy, I savoured the sensations that tingled from her erect hairs, and the spring that was starting to trickle in her nether regions. Rejection never felt so sweet and sad as she pushed me lightly, “Ndam we are in a market” she reminded me with eyes full of desire. “So” i answered like a demon feverishly possessed.
An old woman who had been walking towards us in hurried steps at that time reached us, she muttered profanities under her breath and with a snide remark “yaran zamani”. Before I could smile sheepishly, Jemimah had planted her lips on mine again and gave the best come back without words. The old woman hissed longer than a snake as she shouted “karuwan banza”.
That people of heaven was when my shyness started to die. Since then, I’ve been kissed in dark corners, light places, public places. Urggghh I am shameless! My love for kisses will be the death of me. It was my very own independence kiss as it liberated me from shackles that bind the senses.
Happy independence day Nigeria.