Just before Christmas break of junior year, V's boyfriend/lover/partner (I can't remember what term they settled on) came to visit. In addition to being polyamorous, he was also in open relationships: in his mind, any sexual interaction was not the primary glue holding a relationship together, and it was not limited to solely inside the relationship.
Long story slightly less long, he ended up being my first real kiss, though all three of us knew at the time that V was the one I really wanted to kiss. She was terrified, and it was never discussed (though apparently he made sure she was aware of it). At this point, I honestly felt like God had "released" me from my kissing vow, and I felt no guilt.
V and I would go for long drives at night, partly because I was a depressed, emotional wreck. We knew what it looked like - going out, far away from everyone, in the dark. We joked about how it seemed like we were in a relationship. We talked about delaying marriage (to hypothetical future boys) so we could go to grad school together. We acknowledged that girls could be attractive, not in a sexual way, just in an aesthetic one. We decided we were in a platonic relationship.
We were both curious about kissing girls. I had hardly kissed anyone, and just wanted more experience; she'd kissed boys and wanted to know how on earth it could be different. (So different as to send you to hell.) We knew we couldn't kiss each other, because we had an incredible friendship and didn't want to jinx it. But she knew I wanted to, and I knew it too, though I didn't know why or whether I should be ashamed or not. There was a great deal of wrestling with myself, my surroundings, and my beliefs - I wouldn't go back to that place for anything.