Stolen sex with other men's women was my weakness, as I discovered at university almost half a century ago.
They called the youngsters 'Freshers': students new to university, some barely eighteen. Leaving home for the first time, these fresh-faced kids were excited but nervous at entering this new, more grow- up world.
But, for the girls, university would be a gauntlet.
This was in Britain back in the seventies. Skirts were short, the contraceptive pill had become available and attitudes to sex were changing. By the time they got to university some of the girls were still virgins. That didn't last long with older students like me around.
More common was the girl who'd given herself to her childhood sweetheart who she was hoping to marry one day. Even for them, danger lurked.
And Liz was one of those. In those days getting to university was rare and her boyfriend, Ray, wasn't so good academically. He'd become a mechanic and had been left behind at home to fix cars and wait for her return. Liz was small, barely five foot tall, with waist length red hair. Slightly built, with a tiny bottom and demure breasts, she looked more like sixteen than eighteen. She was pretty with beautiful clear blue eyes and a shy, dimpled smile
In other words, she was cute as a button.
Offsetting this was her occasional earthy language. Describing Ray getting hoofed in the balls during a school football match, she said that for days afterwards he'd 'waddled around like a ruptured duck'.
To me that combination of sweetness with just a hint of bawdiness was a winner. I had to have her.
The university authorities warned the Fresher girls about predatory older students who would try to take advantage of them. These warnings were for the best of reasons, but they helped us more than hindered. A hint of sexual danger is an aphrodisiac all by itself. The girls looked at us with wariness but there was often something else in their eyes.
And I caught just a hint of that from Liz.
It helped that I looked the part. At six-foot I'm a good height, with a strong build and hair that's thick and black. Within a couple of hours of shaving I've grown stubble. I'm no movie star but most women find me presentable. I have a Bad Boy look and women like that, whatever they say to the contrary.
Which made me a bit too obvious. I'd have to lull Liz into a false sense of security, so she would view me with affection rather than as a threat. When I first introduced myself, I asked her gentle questions about herself, what music she liked, whether she missed home. All simple, all obvious. I arranged to show her around campus (with her friends of course, so there was safety in numbers), take her to the local shops and show her the best pubs in town.
As the days passed and she got more and more familiar with me, she'd confided about Ray, about what a nice caring guy he was, how they were engaged and how she missed him terribly. I told her about my own girlfriend Jess, who I too had left behind, though the truth was, I was only stringing Jess along for sex during the vacation, while sampling the college girls during term time.
North Americans will find this hard to believe, but the age of consent for sex is only sixteen in the UK, and the age for drinking alcohol is just eighteen. On top of that, British Halls of Residence had their own bars, profit free and run by the students themselves. That meant the booze was cheap and freely available. The Halls were sometimes mixed, with everyone having their own room and with only different floors separating the sexes.
So, we had nubile eighteen-year-old girls, horny twenty-year-old guys, cheap booze and the ready availability of private bedrooms.
What could possibly go wrong?
After several weeks of playing the good guy, I decided it was time to strike. That night there would be a disco in the Hall. My game plan was simple and well tested. Buy the girl drinks, always making them doubles rather than the requested singles. Start asking her for dances but only when the music was wild and the dancing free form with no touching. After a couple of those, and a few double strength drinks, at the end of each dance just give her a brief hug so she gets used to your touch. A few more drinks later and with a slow dance coming on, get her on the dance floor, your hands on her waist, your bodies gently moving in time.
By that point, Liz was a little unsteady on her feet. As we rocked gently back and forth it was quite natural for my hands to slide cross the cotton of her dress, my fingers almost, but never quite, touching her breasts and bottom.
After a few slow dances, our heads together, I went to kiss her.
Too soon! She leaned back and my lips missed hers. She wagged a finger back and forth. "Bad boy!" she said.
But she kept on dancing.
Out in the real world, drink was very expensive in those days and I doubted she'd ever had five gins, never mind the ten I'd poured into her. Her body had begun to weave more than dance and her words were slurring. We kept dancing, my fingers lightly touching her flesh through the thin cotton of her dress, my nose filled with her scent.
Eve's flesh- there's nothing more enchanting. Whatever it took, however risky, I had to possess her tonight.
A couple of slow dances later she brought up a hand to rub her brow. "Oooh, I feel a bit woozy," she said.
I nodded. "Same here. I've got some coffee in my room. Let's get some."
She gave a couple of big blinks. "OK, Ray."
For a second, she'd confused me with her boyfriend. Now was not the time to set her right.
We staggered up the stairs to my room. I'd had quite a bit of booze myself so I had to fumble to get my key out. Or perhaps I was a bit nervous myself.
