Truth or dare.

Ever play that game?  (Since you were nine years old that is).   Well I went out on Friday night with a few former work colleagues and after several pints/glasses of wine (though not for me I hasten to add) decided to capitalise on their intoxicated state and re-introduce it to them.  It's amazing the things people are willing to tell you after a bit of alcohol has passed their lips, or rather a lot of alcohol as it turned out. Fuelled in part, I feel, by the anticlimax of what was supposed to be a World Class game of Football but resulted in a huge goalless mockery of the sport.  That incidentally is not my personal take on the match, merely what others have said.  No I must admit that I watched the entire thing and was actually quite impressed.  We have some mighty fine looking players with some mighty fine looking thighs....and all attired in the most impressively white kit I couldn't help but gaze on with dazzled awe....what more do the British Public want?

So truth or dare.  Apparently I used to work with a veritable plethora of social deviants, the private hobbies, tastes and preferences of whom I couldn't possibly share on here....not without their prior permission, even if just hypothetically.   Made me realise  that hidden beneath most of our respectable exteriors, with the exception of a relative few, we all harbour some rather twisted goings on.  Kind of relieving to know I'm not alone then.  I, being sober, obviously didn't divulge very much at all but did answer one of the more innocent of questions "when and who was your first kiss with".  

My first peck I can't even remember.  There were too many.  I am fairly certain it was during one of the numerous games of kiss chase we played at primary school.  I can distinctly recall deliberately allowing myself to get caught and feeling an overwhelming sense of excitement at the prospect of getting that smacker on the cheek, or if  my luck were really in a proper lips one.  I can't believe now, to look at her, that Charlotte is around the same age I was when these games first began.   Hopefully I was ahead of my time.

My first real kiss however was hideous and as such indelibly marred my mind.   I had postponed it far beyond the age of acceptability....all of my friends having experienced their right of passage 'snogathon' by around twelve years old.  I however was orally frigid it seemed and although many opportunities had presented themselves I could never bring myself to get to that proverbial first base.   I believe in part this mental block was caused by my overhearing a conversation between two boys who were rating their snogging partners out of ten.  This horrified me.  What if I only ever got a 1.5??  As an already depressed teen  with a distinct lack of self esteem, this surely would be the final nail in my coffin.  And so I wouldn't chance it.

Until that is I met Stuart.  I'll always remember him, not so much for the kissing but for the ridiculous wet look perm he sported accompanied by neon polyester shell suit.  It was the same time as  the spitting image 'Chicken Song' was released.......a song which will forever bring back memories of Stuart, a bottle of Diamond White and what has to be the worst case of forcible tongue entry ever. 

It had taken me about a week of "going out" with him to get to the point where I felt I had enough courage to do it.  He'd walked me back to my best friend's house.....a walk the tension levels of which were probably akin to death row.  I knew what was coming.  I knew with every step it was getting closer and the anxiety was enough to make me vomit, almost.  Eventually we got to the corner of her road and he stopped.  So I stopped.  He turned towards me, lent in and cocked his head slightly.  I lent in and cocked my head in the opposite direction (a move my pillow and I had attempted repeatedly in practice sessions) but then he did what the pillow and the crook of my elbow had never done before, he pressed his lips to mine and rammed his tongue in so hard and fast it literally knocked me off my feet and backwards in to the hedge.  I reappeared crest fallen and covered in brambles, feeling utterly desolate.   Once again, although I wish I could say this is an exaggeration merely added for dramatic effect, it is in fact the earth-swallow-me-whole-now-please truth

Thereafter I didn't even make eye contact with the tongue's owner just ran full pelt to Simone's front door, half laughing (I have always been able to see the comedy value of my inelegance), half crying (at the sense of violation) but finally a woman....or at least it felt that way.  I had kissed open mouthed, albeit for a millisecond, and I was no longer a snogvirgin. A fact I would make sure everyone at school knew about on Monday.  But without the hedge part.

For all the embarrassment it caused, in reality I treasure my memory of that day.  It was such a landmark and I am glad I can still taste the apprehension of the moment.....hopefully it will help me in the future when trying to understand my own teenagers; what drives them, what scares them, and ultimately to remember that at age fourteen what concerns you most is just being the same as everyone else.  Acceptance.  We all need it.

I never did see Stuart again, though not for his lack of trying, so I genuinely hope he's not wandering around now still scarred from our encounter and the utter humiliation I must of caused.  To kiss a girl and have her run off laughing cannot be good for any sized ego. 

The kissing I did return to however (and not just with my pillow).