Friends who kiss

A story about sneaking away to kiss

“You smell like chocolate”, I would tell them between kisses. Sweet kisses, little kisses, soft lips on lips and a little tongue. A chuckle would rise from deep within their chest, another kiss, one more, sometimes there would be a smile against my lips when they ask, “Really?"

We were sat on the edge of my single bed, usually on an errand. That's when we would kiss, having found an excuse to come to my house before or during parties. Often to "pick up supplies"- a half-finished bottle of wine, or a bit of pot wrapped in ruled paper. “We'll be right back, getting some pot from Safa's”. But first, kissing. They were notoriously late. Me too, if I’m honest. It would be very typical for us to run late from a quick errand. Can't get caught if we're not being shady.

The first time we kissed was on a night like this. We'd always been physically affectionate, it came with the territory. Young people spending many hours together everyday tend to form these sorts of friend groups, where everyone has kissed everyone. Or was it just me? We’d go out drinking and then to someone’s house to continue. I’d be in my own bed as the sun comes up with plans to do it all again tomorrow.

We were out drinking one night with our friends and found ourselves in the smoking area with a smaller group. It’s more intimate,  this gang is close, this is where we debrief the party. I was sitting up on a half wall, my legs dangling. They’re standing next to me and we’re sharing a cigarette. We were holding hands, and as our friends got caught up in conversation, they stepped forward to stand in between my knees. Something shifted. I looked up and met their eyes. This intensity was unfamiliar, not unwelcome. I resisted the pull, my body wanted to lean in closer, reach out and touch their cheek. They leaned in a fraction. My heart thumped in my ears. The music and chatter faded out. Someone laughed loudly, piercing the sudden intimacy. Later. Without an audience.

Photo by Matthew Ball on Unsplash

We got back in a cab and headed to someone's house. Afterparties were essential to our lifestyle, and we all lived nearby. “We'll get some beer from Safa's” we said and went up to my room. I think I kissed them first. And they kissed me back, so softly. So respectfully too. I remember feeling so content and safe, their hands didn't start to wander immediately like many others. We returned when someone called them to ask what was taking so long.

It was a short walk to the party, and I'm certain we held hands and giggled the whole time. We’d still hold hands if we met many years later. Some things are perfect just as, you know. They don't belong on the gilded escalator of life. This was one of them.

---

Natasha Badhwar

and

Raju Tai

’s

Ochre Sky Stories

is a beautiful place I have been so grateful for this last year. Where else do you get to explore your words in such a kind and compassionate place? This is based on a prompt shared during an Ochre Sky Writer’s Circle.

Ochre Sky has been a huge part of my reflection, education and radicalization over the last two years. At two important decision points in my career, they helped me find my voice. Both times it was to stand up for something I believe in at the worst sort of tokenistic and callous workplace. I’m grateful for the compassion I had behind me while I took up battles against Goliaths. Twice.