There’s a tiny spot of blood somewhere on his lower lip, where I bit him, obviously. I touch my lips and they’re swollen.
I am nervous. Oye seems on the verge of telling me something important, something I dread. Certainly not because it’s bad news, but because it makes matters more complex.
I’ve always liked Oye. Right from when he saved my arse in that Fulani History class three years ago. He seems so…. genuine. Not many guys I know are like that. They all seem to want to impress. They’d go out of their way to give a girl a high opinion of them. Not Oye. He’s not perfect, certainly. He does have the tendency to go on unsolicited rants from time to time, and he’s too quick to help people in need, not realising that they’re using him, most of the time anyways. He’s a really good guy. But that’s not why I like him, after all there are many good guys.
He nervously licks his lips as he faces me. His eyes are fixed on mine, and he looks like someone who’s about to deliver news of impending doom.
“I like you,” he begins. “Not just like, but like. Like like. I like you very much”. He says all this quickly, hardly breathing.
Then more slowly, he continues,
“You affect me in so many ways, Jane. I really don’t know why I feel this way about you… ” He trails off.
“I like you so much it hurts. I can hardly think straight when you’re in close proximity. I see your face in my dreams every other night. I don’t know if it’s a passing fancy or it’s obsession. From all indications, the latter is the more likely.”
“Delicious thoughts of you permeate my lungs. If you were white, you’d probably blush at my thoughts of you, if you knew them.”
He pauses, then continues on,
“There! I’ve gotten it all out. Now you know why I’m slightly uncomfortable around you. Now you know.”
He looks at me like he expects me to say something in return. Actually, I’m waiting for him to say the magic words, to ask….
He slowly regains his composure, sitting up straighter. His tone is all serious.
“I’m sorry if that wasn’t what you expected. If you don’t want to be friends with me anymore, it’s alright.”
I can see the pain in his eyes, the desire, the hunger. It’s obvious he’s scared of it. But what he doesn’t know is that I’ve been waiting for those words for a long while, anticipating them, while at the same time dreading them.
“Please say something, Jane”, he says.
It’s all too much for me to bear. Before I can gather my thoughts, my lips are on his, kissing him. He groans, surely surprised. And then, he begins to kiss me back. My hands move to grasp the sides of his face. His tongue is searching, caressing all of the nooks and crannies of the inside of my mouth, and I moan softly with pleasure.
Lost in the pleasure of the moment, the kiss becomes more intense. It’s not a chaste kiss, the kind husbands give to their wives when leaving home for work. It’s not a telenovela kiss either, the kind with a lot of style and finesse. It’s a hungry kiss. If you’ve a wild imagination like mine, and you’ve ever wondered how a tiger kissing a lioness would be like, this is something close to it.
Slowly, he pulls away from me. There’s a tiny spot of blood somewhere on his lower lip, where I bit him, obviously. I touch my lips and they’re swollen.
“That’s my reply. Would you like to try again?”, I ask.
He looks at me for a split second, and then pulls my face closer, whispering into my ear.
“Be my guest”.
Once again, our lips are locked together in a most intense kiss. My hands move of their own accord, pulling off his shirt. He obliges, only pausing for a few seconds to help me get his shirt off. My hands move hungrily around his hard torso. He’s not packed with muscle as you’d expect, what with the speed at which I attacked his shirt. He’s lean, in a hard way, just the way I like it.
Not satisfied with just his upper body, my hands, the rebellious beasts they are, move lower, searching for his belt buckle, seeking to unleash the beast beneath.