It was supposed to be a game. A fun, simple little game where everybody was happy, and no one got hurt.
I stood in the dark closet, the rough cotton of the bandana we fashioned into a makeshift blindfold harsh against the delicate skin around my eyes. I was both excited and nervous about what could happen. The game was a simple one. We would roll a pair of dice and the person with the lowest number went into the closet with a blindfold. Everyone else would roll the dice again and whoever got the lowest number would have to go in the closet with the first person, and without talking, kiss them then leave. After that, the person in the closet would wait until they were told to come out. Once they came out, they would have to guess the person that kissed them. If they guessed right, then the person who kissed them would have to go in the closet. If they guessed wrong, then they would have to go back into the closet and try again.
I didn’t really want to play the game, but this was the first party my friend and I had ever been invited too, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her.
After all, there probably wouldn’t anymore parties till we graduated high school in a couple months.
So here I was in the closet, waiting for my turn to be over.
My breath hitched as I heard the closet door open and someone step inside. I felt smooth, small hands gentle press my shoulders back until my back hit the smooth wall of the closet.Â
My skin felt sparks as those wonderful hands glided up my neck and cupped my face. My pulse skyrocketed as I felt a warm breath caress the sensitive skin of my lips.Â
All I could smell was lavender laundry detergent, and a hint of that fake cherry flavored chapstick. My brain froze at the realization, but it was too late to say stop as soft lips descended upon mine, effectively blocking any form of protest.
Not that I would ever protest.
I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember the feel of those soft lips as they molded my rough ones into a gentle kiss. I wish I could remember how gentle, how beautiful it was.
But I can’t. All I can remember is the taste of that disgustingly fake cherry chapstick.Â
It was over before I realized it had even begun. Those soft lips left with those smooth hands. Light footsteps pattered out of the closet and the hinges squeaked as the door closed.Â
I stood there, the wall behind me the only thing holding me up. I didn’t know what to do. Thousands of thoughts flashed through my head but the same thoughts kept coming back over and over again.
I liked it. I really liked it. And I wanted more.
My chest tightened in shame. Good little girls don’t have those thoughts. Good little girls don’t like the taste of fake cherry chapstick when they are being kissed. Good little girls don’t want it.
A knock on the door tore me from my spiraling thoughts. A large, rough hand pulled me out of the closet and led me to the center of the room.
“So Vanessa,” a shrill voice giggled, “Who do you think kissed you?”
I didn’t dare look to my right. Where I knew my best friend sat. I didn’t think about the renewed scent of fake cherry chapstick that only grew stronger as she applied a new coat. I didn’t think about how her new boyfriend of two weeks sat next to her.
Laughter sounded around me as the teens in the circle found pleasure in my pain.Â
“Nope. Looks like you’ll be going back into the closet.” The same shrill voiced trilled.
I didn’t say anything as I was led back into the closet to await my fate.
It took three more tries for me to guess correctly. And to my shame, all I could think about was how I wanted nothing more in the world than to taste that fake cherry chapstick once more.