Yesterdays blog about stepson wanting to impress a girl at school made me remember when I was 14,15. I was really into this girl at school. I had maybe two classes with her but those lessons were all I could think about. She seemed to also feel a similar pull towards me (puzzling). We would talk for hours on the phone in the evening and I got into trouble for running up the phone bill. But there was always something stopping it becoming a 'thing' between us. It seemed to me that actually she was a bit embarrassed about liking me a bit and she wouldn't be able to admit it in public. I just tried and tried to get off with her. She had a spell over me but she used that power to belittle me most of the time, like a cat with a mouse. 
Maybe a year later, after a house party where my  virgin mind raced at what I might get up to with her, she led me off out the sight of everyone ( slightly hurtful, but intriguing as to what she wanted to do to me), and she kissed me in a way that maybe she thought was passionately but left me more in the dark as to how to kiss well. 
This girl idol of mine put her Tongue in and out of my mouth in a fast darting action like that of a snake. Now I'd heard of a french kiss but didn't realise this was how it was meant to go. But to disguise my lack of experience I decided I had to join in before it was over. So I darted my Tongue in and out. But then I realised I didn't know whether to put my Tongue in towards hers so that they violently struck together or whether when she put hers in, I should retract mine like we were two lumberjacks cutting down a tree with one of those long saws. I tried a bit of both in an attempt to half be good at kissing. I didn't enjoy either feeling remotely. We finished and I waited for her to review which was right. But as soon as we wordlessly rejoined the others she was off into the night, presumably to snake kiss someone who she wasn't ashamed of.
Had the evenings practicing kissing my pillow or hand taught me anything, well that's for her to say. I'm still distrustful of the french kiss. I seem to remember that this was also the night which ended up with me saying I was going to throw myself off a bridge near the party. The bridge in question was about two metres high though so all that wouldve happened is that I'd have got two twisted ankles and a pair of wet shoes. 
But everything was symbolic that evening. I walked about four miles home with a great friend who listened to me pour my heart out in the moonlight and even pulled me back onto the pavement when from time to time I would risk being run over because I'd stumble into the road. But at 3am in a quiet village there was no traffic. As I said,  'Symbolic'.