College social life officially began for new students with a dance called an orientation hop. When I was a fresher, most freshers went, and for every new local student, there were ten or twelve outsiders in the packed hall. Most chattered nervously, peering around to spot the talent; there were the usual loud lads, made bold by a few beers beforehand; the music was too loud, or we'd say it was now.

I was with my mate Mort, who unlike me, never lacked confidence around girls. I stood around watching (cynically) while Mort flashed his Colgate smile at dance partners. His patter was soon working for him, too; he disappeared into the crowd assertively leading a giggly blonde. Then I realised the blonde had a friend, standing just a few paces from me on her own. I moved closer and introduced myself. She looked up at me, with a smile that signalled warmth but also curiosity that someone was actually talking to her. Her name was Delwyn, first-year medicine, staying in a nearby hall of residence. From a farming family, fresh out of five years at boarding school. Delwyn might not have been the next Marilyn Monroe but she had social skills far more advanced than most of our age - she actually listened, she asked questions that showed interest in my stammered mumblings, she kept eye contact. And she smiled and laughed, often.

It didn't take long for me to realise I was falling for her. And she wasn't even trying to catch me.

We quickly discovered we both preferred real dancing, not just gyrating; I silently thanked my sister for the dance lessons which had prepared me for the Leavers Ball not so many months before. We danced, lots. We talked. We sang along with the hit songs of the day. And yes, I walked her back to her new Hall of Residence. She snuggled in for a kiss, which turned into several, but I kept my hands on the outside of her clothes. Grandma would have been proud of me. Delwyn agreed to come to my home for lunch the next day, Sunday. Snort with derision if you will, but we even went to church together that evening, had coffee at a student haunt, and then I drove her to a quiet park.

Yep, it was steamier than the night before. When I undid the buttons on her blouse, and slipped a hand onto her breast, she whispered in my ear that no male hand had been there before. (Journey slowly and enjoy it!) When my hand crept tentatively up her skirt, and fumbled inexpertly with the elastic of her panties, she sat up and said 'We just met yesterday, Tommy! You're really sweet, and I love you touching and kissing me, but I can't get serious. Nothing can get in the way of my medical training!" In my teenage churchgoer heart, I thought she was giving me the push. Almost in tears, I kissed her goodnight in the foyer of her Hall. She turned at the bottom of the stairs and called out "Ring me up!" but I didn't. I'd climbed to the top of the world one night and fallen into deep despair the next.

Only a fortnight later , I went on a date with Janna, an old girlfriend. We went to a local dance, parked outside her house, and the two of us got the virginity hurdle out of the way much too quickly. I didn't have a condom but she was sick of the heavy petting of our past dates and wasn't waiting any longer for the real thing. She hauled up her dress on the back seat of my Dad's car, took her panties down, and reached for my penis. I lunged through the hymen, she cried out, and within seconds, I pumped her full of overeager teenage semen. I'm still trying to forgive myself for three things: not learning sex skills earlier, getting Janna pregnant, and seeing Delwyn's face, not hers, as we fucked. (Janna miscarried and later married a good bloke and had three lovely kids.)

Delwyn's path and mine didn't cross for four years, but one day, I met her by chance in the university precinct. Took me a moment to recognise her. Still the lovely smile. She said "Hello!" like she was really pleased to see me, and then, "You never called me!" I retorted, "You didn't want me to!", even as I realised she really HAD wanted me to be around. She'd meant me to slow down, when I thought she was telling me not to come back. I'd give my right arm to turn back the clock on all that......

Years later, Mort (remember, my mate at the Orientation Ball) asked me out for a game of golf. He's become very well known in our neck of the woods, but he's one of several of my peers who see me as a sort of Father Confessor because of my connection with church stuff when we were all growing up together. So as we walked up the eleventh fairway, he said, "Tommy, I don't think I've told you about my other daughter. One-night stand in my last year at University. the mother was and is a lovely girl. Farmer's daughter. Went to a boarding school up north. She's a doctor and very well regarded in her specialty area. But it's damned shame: she's married to a real prick."

I froze. I knew before I asked the question:

"What's her name?"

"Delwyn"