This kiss started three days ago when Ayo and I shared a handshake. Something happened when we touched skins and it lingered on after we finished greeting. Just like that, we were magnets, finding each other’s gaze from across the room and bumping into ourselves in a space that was small enough for a 3-year-old to navigate. We were finally seated next to each other in a group where everyone laughed uncontrollably to a joke, our legs ended up touching and at this point, our scents had become one. He leaned over and said ‘I like the way you laugh’. Now my laughter was horrible, I knew this for sure because it sounded just like my mother’s. Loud with a high-pitched echoing that sounded like an owl trying to sing the opera. But I was polite and returned the compliment by telling him I liked his perfume, and just like that we broke off from the group to talk.
Whenever I think about that conversation, everything plays in slow motion. I remember every inch of his smile, the feeling of two cotton shirts rubbing at the shoulders, and our shared love for Captain Spock from Star Trek.
We spent the next two days texting until we found ourselves alone in his room. All the furniture in the world couldn’t hide how cumbersome it felt to be alone in a room with Ayo. I glued myself to the edge of his bed, and after taking a few strolls across his room, he decided to continue our conversation right next to me. I suddenly felt like I had bad breath and tried to talk face down. Then, he asked if he could kiss me. I found myself staring into his eyes, too scared to open my mouth, not just because it probably smelt like crap but also because I didn’t know what to say.
He made the decision for me by parting my lower lip with his mouth and for a moment everything faded away. He paused and took a quick look at me, then he stood up and went to bolt the door. He returned and resumed the kiss, this time pushing his weight on my body, pushing my back to the bed. This second kiss was different, his saliva felt cold and his lips reminded me of raw meat; something I wasn’t supposed to have.
I suddenly felt trapped between his body and whatever was on the other side of the door. I was face to face with a feeling that felt like death, something about the door killed the hope of tomorrow I was used to, as a young man with a bright future ahead. As his lips went on to kiss my neck and his hands explored every part of my body, I began to imagine a life of many kisses with Ayo. But, in every picture, there was a door, a bolted door, a brown wooden door with a golden handle.
For the first time, I felt a love that wasn’t compulsory at birth and I knew I could spend eternity with Ayo pressed against my chest. This joyous feeling wasn’t alone, it brought with it a problem tomorrow couldn’t solve and I mourned my happiness immediately I received it.
We never talk about the forbidden fruits because the stories paint them like a poison that will cost you your life but what is life if one cannot love? Isn’t it death itself to tell yourself that others have power over who you love and what fruit you eat? My heart, soul and entire being wanted this fruit, but that joy was something to keep secret, something people might kill me for, something my parents wouldn’t relate to.
I am now a gingerbread house with sugar and sour lemons. I have experienced the love of Romeo, Juliet, St. Valentine and all the greats combined, but at every moment, I have experienced death. The feeling that my joy means sadness for others even though it does no harm. The feeling that I am hated because I love in a way some people can’t relate to, the feeling that I must continue to live as one who mourns the love he currently has.
About the Writer
Name: Emmanuel Sadi
Country of Origin: Nigeria
Twitter: @EmmanuelSadii
Bio: Emmanuel Sadi is a Lagos based writer, creative director and activist, who considers himself to be one of the greatest (in the making). He wakes up thinking that “Evil Must Not Triumph” and tries to make a difference.