It started with a kiss. No wait! It started with licking lips. His lips. He has this habit of licking his lips. First, let’s consider the fact that his lips have that unexplainable pull that makes you just want to kiss them. Thin but full at the same time, and the colour of a delicate pink. Moreover, since he kept licking them, they were forever moist. It was not conscious – the licking – but he did it every five to ten minutes. My eyes looked every time he licked. My reaction was also subliminal, a reaction to suggestive stimuli. Now let’s go to my lips. I am not trying to brag and neither am I exaggerating when I say this. I was blessed with beautiful lips. I consider them my best facial feature. Full, beautifully shaped and pink. It has become a natural occurrence to me for people to come up to me and ask if I would let them kiss me. So am willing to bet that it had crossed his mind on several occasions that kissing me would be a delight. We met at school and had the same bunch of friends, so we spent a great deal of time together. On one occasion while we were sitting around telling stories, he noticed that his lips caught my attention when he licked them but then I’d pretend I hadn’t noticed. Then he started licking them purposely to catch my attention. He’d lick, I’d look, he’d lick again, I’d bite my lower lip, shake my head or close my eyes and go back to what was going on around us. It was embarrassing how I responded to him. It was even more embarrassing that he knew. In an attempt to kill some of that embarrassment, one day when he licked his lips, instead of staring at his lips, I looked him the eye. He smiled and tilted his head. He was enjoying himself! I was even more embarrassed. But I couldn’t not adore those lips. They just looked so…delicious! He continued teasing me. 

Then one day, we found ourselves in a private little place. It wasn’t planned. First, there were more of us than the little space could hold and suddenly it was just the two of us. I was listening to him tell me how he was going to medical school the next year. He licked his lips. I looked and bit my lip. He stopped talking. I raised my eyes back to his. We stared at each other. He licked his lips. My eyes slid back to his lips and my lips parted. He leaned in. Back to his eyes. There was a twinkle in them. He leaned in some more. I pulled away. He licked his lips again and parted them. I leaned back in and even closer. Transfixed by his lips. I bit my lower lip, trying to stop myself from giving in. He licked his lips again. I took in a sharp breath. He leaned in some more. He was so close I was breathing in his breath. He still didn’t kiss me. I licked my upper lip. Slowly. He kissed me. Soft. Slow. Long. Aaaah… Glorious! Better than I’d imagined. I remember that kiss like it just happened. From then, we found excuses to be alone. To make out. Then one day we had to finish what we started.

It wasn’t the first time we’d gone beyond making out but I’d never let it go too far. But that day, his kissing drove me absolutely out of my mind. I couldn’t control myself. I blame hormones. We were at his place, on the carpet, watching a movie. The characters finally got to the part of the movie that they kiss for the first time. That set us off. Slow, long, lingering kisses. Then they got heated. Breathing got fast and heavy. With the hand around my waist, he pulled me against the length of his body. Tight. Really tight. My hands snaked around his neck and shoulders. Our tongues played with each other. I tilted back onto my back and brought him with me. His hand found its way up my top. And my leg found its way between his legs. My top was no longer on me. He was kissing my neck. Slow, lingering, little kisses. Breathing was becoming difficult. He went lower. To the valley between my breasts. My backbone arced towards his kisses. His mouth was playing with my nipples now. Eliciting involuntary little moans from me. I pulled off his t-shirt. Skin! Soft, hot, male skin. He kissed me even lower. Now he was between my legs. He kissed my stomach. He was undoing my belt and fly. This was usually the point that I stopped him. That day, I was too far lost in tantalising agony to stop him. He pulled my trouser off. Then he was back to kissing me. My lips. A long, deep, heated, tantalising, arousing kiss. I put my hands around him and held him close and tight. So he wouldn’t stop kissing me. I caressed his back. Enjoying the feel of his skin under my palm. I ran my nails down his spine. Slow. Softly. He moaned and kissed me with more intensity. The feel of his skin on mine was beautiful. His bare chest rubbing against my already aching nipples. His hands sweeping soft caresses across my bare skin. Driving me crazy. Making me want release. I had to have him. I started a war with his trouser. He took it off. Instead of kissing my lips again, he declared war on my thighs. Kissing one thigh. Kissing the soft, sensitive inner-thigh skin. Slow, lingering, little kisses. Headed in the general direction of the bull’s eye, my centre. The source of this need he was turning into a fiery fire. The ticking bomb that was my vagina. Pulsing. Wet. Ready for welcome invasion. He kissed closer. Closer. Closer. One more kiss.

Then he began his assault on my other thigh. Up towards my knee. Taking my panties with him. Then he pulled them off completely and took his boxer briefs off too. He was engorged. Hard as metal. So filled up it looked like his skin would break. He continued with his kissing assault on my body. Starting at my lower stomach. Coming higher and higher. I could feel his hand caressing my thigh. Towards my centre. Then he was kissing the valley between my breasts again. My back ached. His fingers invaded my centre. Gently teasing me. His mouth was on my nipples again. The moans escaping me were involuntary. My eyes shut. My hands were caressing his back and encouraging his head to keep doing what it was doing. He kissed higher. My neck. His fingers still playing games between my legs. My legs apart to accumulate him. I was caressing his legs with my feet. My knee as high as his waist. His hand caressed my thigh and held it at the knee. Pulling it higher. My hands snaked around his back and pulled him closer. I put my legs around his waist and pulled him even closer. I could feel his erection pressing against my abdomen. I slid a hand down his chest to his abdomen and wrapped my fingers around his erection. Caressed him softly, rubbing the tip gently. Then he stopped everything. Every single assault he was inflicting on me. He buried his face in my hair and groaned. I bit my lower lip, caressed and rubbed some more. Faster and faster. Then he grabbed my hands and pulled them over my head. Holding them there. He looked me in the eyes. Then he kissed me. Starting slow and taking it faster, more heated. He ended the kiss. Looked me in the eye and smiled. I smiled back. He entered me. Slow but sure. Completely. Filling me up. My back arced. I closed my eyes and threw my head back. I could feel him still watching me. He didn’t move. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He moved. Inside me. Moving again and again. Plunging in and out. Kissing me when he could. Driving me to a crash. The epitome of pleasure. Sweet, delicate release. Over and over again. Then his release came. It was beautiful. Overpowering. Addictive.

We did get addicted to each other. To the sex. To being together. So it was only natural that an emotional bond would develop. I felt it. It scared me. I gave up the addiction. We went back to being just friends. Closer than before, but just friends. No sex. No kissing. Just suggestive eye contact. And licking of lips. A few months later, he was off to medical school. I didn’t see him much but we kept in touch. On phone. We bumped into each other a few times. We acted like friends. But we never forgot. There was a sizzle between us. We both felt it. We knew an ‘us’ would be explosive. Epic. But we ignored the sizzle. Met new people. Had new experiences. Life went on. Until desire came banging.

He bought me ice cream. We sat and talked as I creamed myself. He doesn’t like it – ice cream. He licked his lips. I smiled and confessed, “That licking still gets to me.” He smiled. “It was the start of a lot of trouble, “I confessed some more. “Trouble? You think what we had was trouble?” he was smiling a devious smile when he asked that. He licked his lips again. “Yeah. For me anyway. I keep comparing others to you. Without knowing it or wanting to, I find myself comparing. It’s very annoying,” more confession. “You’re not the only one who does that,” he conceded. We smiled at each other and started on another course of conversation. We were parting when he asked, “Have you found anyone who compares?” I wrinkled my nose, “It’s been two years. You might be better for all I know. So I can’t be sure.” Mischief crept into his eyes. There was a twinkle in them. “Can I show you?” he asked with a suggestive smile. I smiled but didn’t reply. He licked his lips. “Sure, why not?” I gave up fighting what I wanted. We went to my place – it was closer. When we kissed, it was like picking up where we’d stopped. Only this time it was better. Like I’d thought it would be. Explosive!

The addiction was back. This time though, it brought a friend – feelings. Strong feelings. From both ends. We agreed to let it play out. Then I went and did a stupid thing. I fell in love with him. It scared me out of my skin. I’d never been in love before. I’d loved but being in love was new to me. I left. Again, and never told him why. He moved on. I was broken. For so long, I couldn’t get him out of my head. Couldn’t stop wanting him. Wouldn’t stop hoping we’d get back together. My heart hurt. I felt like my heart had been pulled out of my chest, stomped on, drove over by a truck, then put back into my rib cage. Yet I knew I had done this to myself by letting myself fall in love with another human being. I still feel the need to be with him every now and then. Am still desperately in love with him. Annoyingly so. But I’ll never tell him that. Him or any other friend of mine for that matter – I have an image to maintain. Plus if this is what being in love means – not being able to control myself when am with him, being so intoxicated by him that thinking of something else becomes impossible, wanting to be with him so much it’s no longer a want or need but an obsession, wanting to annihilate the person he’s with when he’s not with me, being willing to forget all else in life if it means having him – I don’t want any part of it. We are still friends. We talk occasionally but I’ve avoided seeing him since the day I broke up with him. A year is a long time to avoid someone. We have mutual friends. There is one getting married in two weeks’ time. He’ll be there. I wonder what will happen. And to think all this started because he can’t not lick his lips!

© afra njoki (her work)