My first kiss was taken by a lanky medical student with a penchant for alcohol, logic puzzles, and food. He had beautiful smooth hands, small eyes that smiled when he smiled, and a forehead that creased when he frowned or laughed. An overall boyish face, gently lined with age and perhaps overnight partying and too much alcohol and sex. He had an exceptionally sharp mind which he claims not to use (though I suspect that isn’t entirely true), an infuriatingly smug confidence about him, a cool and calm manner of speaking, of walking. You can tell that he lives life in his own pace. Perhaps he has an inner universe with an clockwork of its own. Perhaps sunsets in the real world equate to sunrises in his mind. Does what he wants, when he wants, without a care in the world. Parties all night and still passes medical school exams. Pummels through my carefully constructed barriers with the slightest touch. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. I could…I could… I could kiss him.
And I did.
Or rather, he did, first. In his room, with butter-coloured brick walls, and a broken guitar by the corner, and an ivory coloured rosary on the table, and a sparse bookshelf with smatterings of medical books and bottles of coffee and alcohol. Pinned on his bed, under the slowly turning ceiling fan.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered.
I wondered if he was drunk. A split second had passed. He gripped my chin. I closed my eyes. Felt his lips. Soft. Then his tongue, intertwining with mine. The weight of his body. Wet sounds.
And I thought,
“Oh, he tastes like nothing.”
And then the realisation. This was it. This was my girly dream, my sexual awakening, my loneliness, my aching, my desire, my passion, my fantasy, my lips, my body, and just maybe, my heart; two decades of accumulating emotions and tension; all dissolving into one, fleeting, thoughtless moment.
It was anti-climatic, almost. Nothing that I had imagined, or how I fantasized that it would happen (under rainy bus-stops, in empty sun-spilled corridors), but just as sweet.
I had replayed this scenario so many times in my head, it is almost laughable how quickly it happened.
My heart didn’t jump out of my chest. Nothing of that sort.
No fireworks. No sparks. Just the quiet realization that I had fallen into a precious moment, and I sank into it like a stone into quicksand.
“You learn fast,” he whispers again, and he moves to kiss my forehead. And then more.
He probably doesn’t care about me. But here I am, dissolving anyway.
At 3 a.m, I wriggled out from beside him, straightened my clothes, and went to the university sports field. Sat by the bleachers. The water sprinklers were on. I watched the sky turn an indigo blue, the kind you see before dawn. Just sat there, for the longest time.
This is dangerous. And here I am, in trouble again.