I was in my last year at school and the rest of my life was stretching out before me, a featureless landscape and me without a map. The boarding school I attended was all boys so interaction with the opposite sex was restricted and girls remained a mystery to most of us. Not that this stopped us from endlessly discussing girls and their anatomy. Like most seventeen-year-old boys, my pals and I were obsessed with the subject.

My own experience was limited although, in my view at that time, glorious. A couple of weeks on student educational cruise had provided me with several opportunities for some serious groping and I had even scored once with a skinny blonde girl behind a lifeboat on a windless night off the coast of Turkey. This hadn't been my first experience; that had been after a school drama production performed jointly with the local girl's school the summer before. My introduction to sex hadn't been entirely satisfactory as I had come within about thirty seconds and the female participant had been less than impressed - it was far from her first time!

So it was that this rampant bunch of perambulating hormones that I called friends met together every Wednesday after Rugby Training to nurse our bruises and talk about girls. As members of the school First XV we enjoyed certain privileges such as being allowed to 'walk out' on Wednesday evenings as well as Saturdays. This meant
we could leave the wooded cloisters of the school and head into the local town, which wasn't much to write home about but at least had a semblance of civilisation.

We all used to gather in the town's single coffee bar, picturesquely named the Cresta Run and it was here, over endless cups of cappuccino, that we discussed that subject closest to our hearts and gonads. Sometimes we were fortunate enough to be vouchsafed a glimpse of a real girl or two as the coffee bar was open to all but most of the town girls avoided the place, probably because of our presence - they deemed us 'school boys' and preferred the company of the more liberated local swains. With what was then the typical English Boarding School mentality, the older pupils of the Girls' School were not allowed into town on the same days as us. They could 'walk out' on Wednesday afternoons and Sundays so there was little contact between us all that was not heavily controlled and tightly chaperoned.

This particular Wednesday I had had to miss Rugby Training owing to a slight injury picked up in a match the previous week-end and thus it was, more out of boredom than anything else, that I went into town early, intending to buy a few things I needed in the local shops before joining the rest of the lads in the Cresta Run. It was a typical November evening, not yet 5:30 but dark already and rain falling from a grim and troubled English sky. I shouldered my way into the shop out of the weather and promptly collided with someone. The someone gave a small "Oooffff!!!" and I looked down into the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They were a really dark blue, almost navy blue and from that moment I was lost. "Sorry" I mumbled but the connection between my brain and my tongue seemed to have gone missing. I just stood there, holding eye contact and staring for what seemed like an age. The owner of the eyes stared back. "Well aren't you going to move then?" she said. She was gorgeous! I could tell straight away that she was a senior from the Girls'' School. She was wearing their horribly unflattering grey raincoat that always appeared several sizes too big but on her it looked like a Chanel gown. She had shoulder length dark brown hair that had a touch of curl and pale, pale skin with a hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. I felt myself blush scarlet. I have reddish brown hair and colour up a bright red when embarrassed, a source of much ribbing by my friends.

I couldn't find my voice. I dumbly moved to one side and held the door open for her. I swear to God my mouth was open like a frog catching flies. I was desperately willing myself to say something, anything at all to prolong this contact. My brain had gone AWOL. Fortunately for me, she was not similarly afflicted. " You look like you've never seen a girl before" she said but there was no hint of malice, almost the reverse. "Not one like you" I managed to stammer and then muttered " Oh shit, that was so corny!" She chuckled. Not a silly giggle but a sound of genuine amusement. "I mean, Oh God I don't know what I mean just not what that sounded like". I was genuinely miserable, here was this delight and I was blowing it all away. "I thought it sounded quite nice, actually... of course, if you didn't really mean it..." She had a playful look in those beautiful navy eyes and I was a complete goner. "Would you like a coffee?" I stammered, the Cresta was just across the street. "OK" she replied brightly, "but I can't be long, the 'witching hour approaches' when we've got to be back." I nodded understanding. They were due back in school by 6.30 and it was a good twenty minute walk from the town. We had the same problem, due back by 10:00 with a similar walk in the opposite direction.

"I'm Paul, by the way, Paul MacDonald." "I'm Jenny Anderson" she smiled "Spinster of this Parish and, as you can guess, inmate of the Bloody Tower". This latter was a reference to the Victorian architecture of her school, which resembled a medieval castle. It had been built by some 19th Century Industrialist with more money than taste and taken over by the School in the 1920's. We entered the Cresta Run and found a table. I fetched coffee from the bored-looking drone behind the counter and sat down to gaze in wonder at this fabulous girl. Again I was tongue-tied but Shakespeare came to my rescue "Oh brave new world that has such creatures in it" I said with a grin. Her chin came up sharply, eyes narrowing. "No I meant it" I hurriedly reassured her, "You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen". "And you are the captain of the First XV, have some semblance of brain as well as having the muscles and feature in the fantasies of most of the fourteen year-olds in our school." I was taken aback. "You know who I am?" She positively smirked. "We know who you all are. Paul Macdonald, Andy Wilmot, Dave Simmonds, Mark Heath, Pete Marsden, Will Hayward, need I go on? Of course, it does help that your names are in the local paper every other week and if ever there is a photograph, the hormone count in the Junior Common Room goes through the roof!" I was flabbergasted.

She saw the look on my face. "Oh come on, don't tell me you didn't know. There is not much to grab our attention in this Godforsaken place. The 'heroes' from the Boy's School are little enough to fixate on, God alone knows, but you're better than nothing!" A smile took the sting out of this. "No" I said "No kidding, I didn't have a clue. I mean, we are all 'fixated' on you girls, I know, but we don't know who any of you are. Goddesses glimpsed through the bars of our cage, you know how we're deliberately kept apart. I just didn't think that girls were the same way." "You don't know much about girls, do you?" I nodded assent. She grinned. "I suppose you think of us as all pure and virginal when in truth we're rabidly randy and mad for it! Actually, most of us are pure and virginal as well - but not
from choice! I swear they keep us apart in an attempt to breed the next generation of lesbians or whatever. " Her blue, blue eyes were twinkling and I was convinced she was laughing at me.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?"

"Uh, no well not really. It's just you're not what I expected."

"Oh? I disappoint you?"

I stammered "No, no not at all. I'm just, well, confused, I guess."

"Let me guess, you don't know what to say to a girl"

"Uh, I, uh" I was starting to sound like a real Neanderthal.

"That's the problem!" she emphasised this with a smack of her hand on the table that made the coffee cups jump. "You think girls are a different species. They keep us apart and suddenly you can't think of a thing to say to 50% of the human race. They call that education! If our Schools were co-ed, I bet you would spend a lot less time thinking about sex that you all do now!"

I grinned. "I'm not sure about that! If you were in my classes I don't think I could think of anything else! Oh God," I groaned, " I meant think about anything else but you!"

"I'll take that as a compliment either way. Oh Christ, look at the time. I've got to run."

"Are you coming in on Sunday?" I asked desperately. She nodded quickly. "I'll meet you here at 2.30, OK?" I could hear the pleading in my voice. She looked at me uncertainly.

"You're not allowed out on Sundays".

"I'll think of something. Meet me?"

She looked at me strangely.

"Please?"

"Ok" she sighed "But don't get into trouble on my account". I shrugged. "Must go" she said and fled the coffee bar, taking my heart with her.

Andy, Dave and the others arrived shortly after she left. I was sitting there in a dream. Oh brave new world... The lads soon noticed my reverie. "What's up with you?" Mark asked. "Nothing, I just met the most incredible girl. Jenny - from the Bloody Tower. She just left." "Has she got big tits?" It was Dave this time. Dave was absolutely obsessed with big tits. He wasn't alone in this, as you might guess, but Dave had refined it to an art form.
"Uh, I don't know" I replied, "I don't think so" There was an incredulous silence. I looked around at the assembled faces and said "What?" Much head shaking was going on. "Our Boy has got it bad" "Didn't notice!" "Men, this is serious" "I do believe our Gallant Captain is in love!!!" They were all grinning and working themselves up to a real session of taking the piss out of me when I said "I arranged to meet her on Sunday so I need a Plan!" There was a thoughtful pause. "You need a psychiatrist not a plan" said Andy "You'll be gated for sure if you go over the wall". "Only if they catch me" I replied for a germ of a plan was twitching softly in the back of my mind.

Thursday and Friday dragged by. Saturday we had a home match against some other school. I don't remember who. We won, but little thanks to me, I was awful, dropping passes and missing tackles that I would normally have eaten up. If substitutes had been allowed back then, the coach would have taken me off at half time. Instead I got a real roasting and even the team looked at me with veiled anger in their eyes. Everyone can have a off-day but they could see I wasn't focussed - wasn't really trying. Truth to tell for the first time in my life I wasn't interested. My whole consciousness was consumed by Jenny. Her face seemed to hang before me wherever I looked.
Strong words were exchanged after the game. Only Andy took my side asking the others if they'd never had a bad game and could they remember me ever having had one before.

Saturday evening came and it was time to put my plan into action. I went to the School Chaplain and told him I was having a 'crisis of faith.' Like quite a few of Scottish ancestry, I'm a Catholic and the School was stalwartly Church Of England so it was not difficult to persuade the Chaplain that I needed to see Father Carol in the town. I got my pass as easy as pie. The Chaplain was a nice old boy and he probably saw through me - I'd never displayed any religious bent before - but he gave me a pass and that was that. It was only a small forgery to alter the return time from 3.00 to 5.00 and I was ready to go.

She was waiting for me outside the Cresta Run. Being Sunday, it was closed, of course. I hadn't thought about that. Some of Jenny's friends were across the road, conspicuously not looking at us but giggling together like, well, a bunch of schoolgirls. I felt unbelievably self-conscious. Jenny, apparently felt the same as she smiled at me shyly and said, "What are we going to do now, then?" "I, erm, mmmh, we could go for a walk?" "Ok" she said "Why not". Fortunately it was dry and though the sky was leaden, it wasn't too cold. We wandered off in the vague direction of the river where there was a tarmac walkway by some sorry-looking weeping willows. Our shyness eased as we walked and talked. I learned she lived in the same town as Andy. She had two older sisters and a younger brother. Her sisters had also been to the Bloody Tower and had gone on to earn good degrees. She felt familial pressure to emulate them. I told her I was an only child but my Father was a Doctor and harboured hopes of me following in his footsteps but that was not for me.

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