Chapter 3: Kiss Me, I'm Bon Jovi (But Please Don't Bite My Tongue)
I should've known better than to kiss someone during Bon Jovi song.
But I was seventeen, hormonal, and convinced that life was just one big music video waiting to happen. And when Ade, the cute guy from my Literature class, asked me to walk him home after school, I thought—why not?
We were both into music. He had even seen me dancing at the last open mic night where I performed an emotional cover of "Always." Afterward, he'd said, "You sing like your soul is on fire." That's Nigerian boy code for "I want to kiss you but I don't know how to ask."
So when we reached his gate, and the streetlights flickered on like they were setting the mood, I did what any self-respecting Bon Jovi superfan would do—I pulled out my phone, played "Kiss the Bride," and leaned in.
Big mistake.
Huge.
Ade kissed me back. At first, it was sweet. Gentle. The kind of kiss that makes your heart race and your knees feel like jelly. I could almost hear Jon Bon Jovi singing in the background:
"She's got a heart of gold, baby she's a wild ride..."
And then—mid-kiss—he convulsed.
Hard.
His body jerked like someone had stuck a live wire in his back. His hands grabbed my shirt. His mouth clamped down on my tongue.
I screamed, but all that came out was a muffled "Mmmphhh!" because my tongue was literally trapped between his teeth.
He fell to the ground, dragging me with him, still locked in this bizarre death-kiss while his body shook like he was trying to dance to a metal song only he could hear.
People ran out of their houses.
Someone shouted, "Omo yin! What is happening?"
I finally pried myself free, my tongue throbbing in pain, blood trickling down my chin like some tragic vampire movie gone wrong.
Ade's mother came running out screaming, "Epilepsy attack! Somebody call the pastor!"
I just sat there, holding my mouth, crying like a child who had just discovered that fairy tales don't warn you about seizure-induced tongue trauma.
Later, at the clinic, Ade apologized profusely.
"I didn't mean to bite you," he said, looking genuinely traumatized. "It happens sometimes when I get too excited."
I stared at him.
"Too excited?!"
He winced. "Like... emotionally overwhelmed. It triggers it sometimes."
I touched my tongue gently. It felt swollen. Like a chili pepper had slapped me.
"So you're telling me," I whispered, "that I nearly lost my tongue to a Bon Jovi makeout session?"
He looked at me like I was speaking another language.
"You were playing Bon Jovi?" he asked.
"Yes! 'Kiss the Bride'!"
He blinked. "That's a weird choice."
"It's romantic!"
"To you maybe. To me, it sounds like a song about a wedding massacre."
I groaned and buried my face in my hands.
This was not how I imagined my first real kiss going.
In my head, it was supposed to be cinematic. Wind blowing through my hair. Sunset behind us. Crowd cheering in slow motion.
Instead, I ended up on the pavement with a bleeding tongue and a boy twitching like he was possessed by David Bryan's keyboard solo.
Word spread fast.
By Monday, everyone at school knew.
Some students gave me sympathetic looks.
Others laughed openly.
Bose met me at the gate with tears in her eyes.
"I heard Ade bit your tongue off," she said dramatically.
"It's not off," I muttered, still sore. "Just bruised."
She gasped. "Girl, you need compensation. You should sue him."
"For what? Emotional damage or dental trauma?"
She nodded solemnly. "Both."
Even our Literature teacher made a joke about it.
"Miss Folake," he said during class, "please remind us to keep our tongues inside our mouths during poetry readings."
The entire class burst into laughter.
I turned red.
But here's the kicker.
Despite everything…
…I still listened to Bon Jovi.
Every time "Kiss the Bride" came on, I flinched.
But I also smiled.
Because that kiss—traumatic as it was—was the most unforgettable moment of my teenage life.
And honestly?
If I had to choose between a boring first kiss and one that involved seizures, dramatic screams, and Ade's mom shouting for the church choir to come pray over us?
I'd pick the latter every damn time.