Born that Way

"That's right, dude," he said, folding his arms. "That's all there is to it. But you just wait. By this time tomorrow, I think you're going to be blown away."

"By this time tomorrow," I thought to myself, "I'm going to be kicking myself for letting Mickey talk me into this con game." But he had already gone back out into the living area to watch tv, so I turned inquiringly to Beth. She just smiled patronizingly at me like I was a child. "Be patient, Petey," she said, "just be patient."

The next morning I went off to work as usual, but I couldn't stop thinking about EyeContact. Part of me kept wondering if it was just some elaborate scam to separate me from my disposable income. But the other part of me couldn't wait to see who the system would come up with for me.

I desperately wanted to log on to EyeContact at the office to see who awaited me, but Google keeps a close eye on all network connections made from within its virtual private network and frowns on personal use. I was well aware of the company's security capabilities, of course, so I certainly wasn't going to risk it. I'd just have to wait until I got home.

Both Beth and Mickey were there when I made it back to the apartment, and they must have known what I was thinking because they both followed me to my desk as I booted up my computer and logged on to EyeContact. I should have been irked at their nosiness, but since they both already knew everything else I'd done, I guessed one more invasion of my privacy wouldn't make any difference.

The welcome screen read "Good evening, Peter. Welcome back to EyeContact. (Very cool, I thought, to adjust the greeting based on the system clock.) We have three suggestions for your consideration."

The first selection was a redhead with a really cute face. Her profile indicated she was a copy writer at a Madison Avenue advertising agency. "Very nice," I thought. "She looks like she might be a lot of fun to meet."

I clicked for the second selection and saw a tall brunette photographed in front of an oil painting. Sure enough, her profile indicated that she worked in a trendy art gallery in the Village. I began imagining Sunday afternoons at museums with her and long discussions over dinner at intimate little restaurants. Definitely appealing.

"Damn," I thought, "this is pretty cool. Both of these look really promising."

Then I clicked on number three and – oh my heavens, look at her! All the photo showed was her face, but what a face! She had raven hair that fell to her shoulders, framing dark eyes and high, prominent cheekbones. Surely she had to be a model, I thought.

I quickly scanned her profile and learned that she was actually an investment banker. Her interests and preferred activities seemed like they were patterned on my own. She was, I learned, a year older than me, but that certainly posed no problem, especially when I looked at her picture again.

Beth had leaned over my shoulder, and I heard her draw in her breath. "Damn," she muttered, "I'd do her."

I grabbed the mouse and moved the cursor over the button for her contact information, but Mickey reached down and stopped me. "Whoa, slow down, cowboy. Are you sure you want to pick her for your first time? No offense, dude, but I think she may be way out of your league."

For the first time since I'd met him, I snapped at Mickey. "Back off, man. You were the one who pushed me to sign up with this service. If EyeContact thinks we're a good match, I'm going to go for it!"

He held up his hands placatingly. "Sure, Peter, no problem. I just don't want you to get burned."

I clicked on the contact information and saw her name, Susan Devereaux, along with what was obviously a cellphone number and her email address. I started to click on the latter, but this time Beth was the one to interfere.

"Wait a minute, Peter, you're not going to send her an email, are you?"

"Well," I said a little self-consciously, "I thought that would be a good non-threatening way to introduce myself."

Beth snorted. "Like that will impress her: an email from some guy she's never heard of! You could say something like, 'Hello, my name is Peter, and I'm a dork.'"

"Alright," I said in irritation, "what would you do?"

"First of all," she said, "I'd call her. At least that way she can be sure it's a real person and not some sales pitch for Viagra!"

"And if she agrees to see you, what are you planning to ask her to do?" Beth went on.

"Well," I stumbled, "I guess I was going to ask her out to dinner on Saturday."

"No, no, no!" Beth scolded. "In the first place, a girl like that almost certainly already has a date for Saturday night. You don't want a turn-down the very first time you call her. And if she doesn't have a date, you don't want to make her admit that. That's not cool either."

"OK, then, what do I do?" I asked in exasperation.

"Call her up and ask her if she's going to be in town next Monday. If she travels on business, it's more likely to be during the midweek, so she's more likely to be available on Monday. And if she doesn't travel, at least she'll be impressed that you were considerate enough to ask."

"Then what?" I demanded.

"Then you ask her if there's a place near her office where you could meet her for a drink after work to get to know each other."

"But I'm trying to get away from the bar scene," I protested.

"Just shut up and listen," she said, but she smiled a little so I wouldn't take it wrong. "First, letting her pick the place will increase her sense of security. She'll be on her turf, not yours. Second, if you're a complete loser, it'll be easy for her to get away, either back to her office or off to her home. By giving her an easy escape route, you reduce her anxiety level about you."

"That actually makes sense," I thought.

"Third," Beth went on, "if you actually manage to hit it off, you'll be in a place she likes anyway, and a drink can turn into dinner if she feels like it."

"Damn," I said admiringly, "are you sure you're not straight, Beth? You've got this all figured out"

"I've picked up my share of chicks," she said, pretending to polish her fingernails.

"OK," I said, "I'm sold. Now shut the hell up and let me make a phone call."

I grabbed my Droid phone, but before I made the call, I entered Susan's name and number in my phone's directory.

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, dude?" Mickey asked.

"For good luck," I said. Then I hit "Connect."

I was pleasantly surprised when she actually answered. Truthfully I hadn't believed this would work. Hell, I'm not sure I believed she was real!

Her voice was low and throaty, but still very feminine. It fit her picture perfectly.

I introduced myself and then played out the conversation as Beth had recommended. To my amazement, it worked! She accepted and suggested a place downtown, not far from her office. I told her I'd be there about 7:00, and after a little more conversation, we concluded.

I got out of my chair, turned and knelt at Beth's feet. "I hail your infinite wisdom, o goddess of the dating world," I said as solemnly as I could without breaking into laughter.

She wasn't impressed. "I'd like it a lot more if it were her down there instead of you."

I dithered about our get-together the entire weekend. I kept wondering what I should wear and rehearsing possible topics of conversation. In short, I was acting like a high school freshman on his first date. "Come on, man up," I told myself several times. "It's not like you haven't done this a hundred times before." But I had to admit that I'd never had a date who'd intrigued me like this one.

When Monday morning finally arrived, Mickey was already up when I came out to make breakfast for myself. As I headed for the door, he stopped me. "Look, man, just relax and be yourself. It'll be fine."

As I walked toward the subway station, I laughed to myself. "'Just be yourself.' That's pretty ironic advice, coming from a guy who likes to dress up like a woman!" But I knew he was right; now if I could just follow his advice.

During the day I imagined a dozen scenarios that would prevent me from getting downtown to the place Susan had suggested, but none of them occurred, and my cab actually dropped me off on the stroke of 7:00. I walked into the place, which was quiet and tasteful, and looked around for her. She was nowhere to be seen. Uh-oh! I sat down at the bar and began steeling myself for the sting of a no-show, but just as I had ordered myself a drink, I felt a hand grab my arm.

"Peter?" she said, and there she was, looking even better in real life than in her photograph. The rest of her was a perfect match for her face. She was tall and slim, with long legs enhanced by stilettos. "Thank you, EyeContact," I thought.

We introduced ourselves and she tugged on my arm. "Come on, let's go sit over in a booth where we can talk and get to know each other."

From there, the conversation took off and just kept flowing. I never had time to be nervous because I was too caught up in what she had to say and in sharing my own thoughts. When there was finally a pause in the conversation, I realized that it was 8:30 already. "I didn't realize it was getting so late," I said. "Would you like to order some dinner so we can continue the conversation?"

"Oh, I was hoping you'd suggest that," she answered immediately. I breathed a silent word of gratitude to Beth.

We ordered a light dinner and then carried on as though we'd known each other for years. She was interesting, she was amusing, she was everything I felt I'd been looking for. I wasn't sure what kind of impression I was making on her, but at least she didn't bail on me.

I was a little chagrined when I checked my phone and saw it was after 11:00. I apologized for keeping her out so late on a week night and offered to get her a cab. We walked out to the sidewalk and I flagged one down for her. As I opened the door so she could get in, she stopped me. "You're a lot different from the men I usually see," she told me.

"Good different or bad different?" I asked apprehensively.

"Good different," she said with a smile. "Most guys would have already tried to get into my panties by now."

I decided to press my luck. "Good enough that you'd like to do this again some time?" I asked.

"Definitely," she said. "Call me next week."

With that, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and slid into the cab, the hose on her long legs glistening in the streetlight.

I made it home about midnight, but I'm not sure how I got there. I might have caught a cab, or I might simply have levitated the whole way. What a wonderful evening!

In a show of incredible self-restraint, I waited until Monday, not Sunday, of the following week to call her. The minute I heard that throaty voice on the other line, though, I was lost again. "Hey," I said, "are you still interested in getting together this week?"

Then I mentally kicked myself. "That's no way to sound forceful and self-confident," I thought.

"Sure," she said, "let's do it." I thought I detected a less-than-enthusiastic tone in her voice. Still, she didn't say no.

"What day is good for you?" I asked.

Again I mentally kicked myself. "Well done. You've just made it clear to her that you don't have anything else going on in your life."

"Friday would work," she responded.

"Great," I said, a little too enthusiastically. Then I made the ultimate capitulation to fecklessness. "Is there anything special you like to do?"

The instant those words left my lips, I knew I had blown it. "How pathetic is that?" I asked myself. "We've had only been out once and I'm already out of ideas. She's going to want to bail on this date before we even get together!"

And indeed I thought I heard a trace of impatience in her voice, although that could just have been my imagination. All she said was, "Surprise me."

"I can do that," I said, with far more confidence than I felt, and after a few more minutes' conversation, we rang off.

When I looked up, Mickey was staring at me oddly. "You're sweating, Peter," he said in a concerned voice.

I shook my head sadly. "I've blown it, Mickey. I got my big chance, and I think I've already blown it. How in the world am I ever going to surprise a sophisticated, intelligent woman like her?" With that I told him the whole sad story, including my need to come up with something creative and amazing. Like the good sport he was, he sat there with me and tried to come up with an idea, but nothing sounded very special.

But at the very lowest point of my fears, a little voice spoke up inside me: "This is your one chance. Go big or go home." And I decided at that moment that if I was going to strike out, I was going to go down swinging for the fences.

Then it hit me, and I turned to my oversized friend. "Mickey, you've got to help me." He listened to my request, and a big grin spread over his face. "OK, Peter, I'll do it. It'll be fun. I can't promise you this will work, but I can promise she won't forget you!"

I decided that was all I could ask for.

I called Susan again on Thursday to remind her of our date. "I'll meet you outside your office," I told her, "and we'll go from there."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"It's a surprise," I said, "remember?"

Susan came down from her office about 6:30 the next evening, and I met her in the lobby. After a quick kiss on the cheek, I escorted her out to the sidewalk, then caught a cab. Once we were settled, I leaned forward in the seat and told the cabby, "Grand Central Station." Susan looked at me oddly. I just smiled at her.

Once we arrived, I escorted her through the main concourse and up the staircase to the mezzanine. We found some chairs overlooking the concourse, and settled in. After we had sat there for a minute or two, Susan could no longer contain herself. "What are we doing, Peter?"

I glanced at the big clock below us and then smiled at her. "People-watching," I said. "Don't you like to watch people?"

She stared at me. "Well, yes," she agreed, "but . . ."

"Take that fellow, for example," I interrupted her, pointing out a tall man wearing a floppy fedora hat and a long trench coat that stretched almost to the floor. He was walking in our direction, and as he reached a point almost directly below us, he suddenly stopped. While the throng of people around him continued to walk past, he removed the backpack he was wearing and set it on the floor. Opening the top of the bag, he reached inside and fiddled with the contents. Suddenly, a driving beat began to echo through the concourse. Then we heard the voice of Lady Gaga singing:

"My mama told me when I was young,

We are all born superstars.

She rolled my hair and put my lipstick on

In the glass in her boudoir."

As the words blared out, the crouching figure suddenly stood to full height and threw off the coat and hat to reveal a platinum blonde wig and a silver lame dress worn with high heels. Despite the bright red smear of lipstick and false eyelashes, there was no question that the impossibly tall blonde was a man. It was Mickey!

He began to dance to the music, somehow keeping perfect time despite his four-inch heels.

"Oooh there ain't no other way,

Baby I was born this way."

We saw that many of the passersby had stopped and were staring at Mickey. Suddenly, in one coordinated move, about twenty of them threw off their overcoats to reveal matching costumes. Then they advanced toward him and began to dance around him, singing along with the music.

The song now switched to the spoken part, and Mickey began to turn in a circle, shaking his finger to admonish the crowd:

"Don't be a drag – just be a queen

Don't be a drag – just be a queen"

People throughout the concourse were doubled over with laughter at the sight of the giant transvestite vamping and chanting.

I hazarded a glance at Susan. She was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks, all the while clapping and singing along.

As the song moved toward its conclusion, the dancers separated and began to merge back into the watching crowd, leaving Mickey alone. As the final refrain started, he began to climb the stairs toward us, singing as he came:

"I was born this way!

I was born this way!

I'm on the right track baby

I was born this way!"

He reached us just as he finished the last line, and he plopped down in my lap and gave me a big smooch on the cheek!

There was dead silence for a moment; then the concourse erupted with cheers and applause. Mickey stood back up and bowed to the crowd as best he could in his tight dress, then turned back to us.

"Susan," I said, "I'd like you to meet my friend, Mickey. Mickey, this is Susan."

Jimmy bent down to kiss her on the cheek. "Well, what did you think?" he asked her.

"That was absolutely amazing," she said. "At first I couldn't understand what was happening, and then I couldn't believe it actually was happening. I've never actually seen a flash mob in person. What a rush!"

Afterwards, we went to Mickey's club and ate and drank while watching the performances. Susan had never been there before and she had a ball. She was entranced by Mickey and thought his friends were sweet. She was laughing and smiling the whole time.

When we were ready to leave, she pulled me into the cab with her and gave the driver an address on the upper West Side. As he drove, she grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me around to face her. "Tonight was a wonderful surprise. I really liked that." Then she pulled my face to hers and gave me as passionate a kiss as I've ever had in my life.

When the driver pulled over to the curb, it took a moment for us to disentangle ourselves. I handed him some bills through the protective shield and then Susan was dragging me into her building. The night watchman at the desk greeted her and she gave him a friendly wave before pulling me into the elevator.

We untangled again when we reached her floor and she almost ran to her door, fumbling with the key to get it open and yanking me inside. There may have been others in the apartment, but I had no chance to see or greet them as she tugged me into her bedroom and closed the door behind us.

Then we were panting and tugging frantically at each other's clothing. The only pause came when she stopped me from removing her panties. "Leave them on," she ordered. "I like it that way." We tumbled to the bed and she was pulling me onto her and then into her.

Sex with Susan was amazing. I was as aroused and eager as I'd ever been in my life, but she was like a starving animal, groping and grasping at me, trying to pull me ever deeper inside her, grinding her pelvis against mine and moaning unintelligibly. There were no rational thoughts, just raw need, and we rapidly built to an incredible explosion that drained us both. As we lay there panting, she rolled me onto my side, with her head resting on my arm. Then she reached down and pulled the sheet over us, and we fell asleep almost immediately.

I awoke the next morning to the exquisite sensation of her tongue on my rapidly hardening penis. When I was fully awake and fully erect, she slid up and impaled herself on me. Then we were off to the races again, and it was every bit as wild and noisy as the night before. As we strained against each other, my only coherent thought was, "If her roommates weren't awake before, they are now." Then we exploded again.

Afterwards she lay on top of me for a few minutes, then got up and tugged my hand to get me to follow her to the bathroom. "Good grief," I thought, "she has an en suite bathroom!" We showered together, and I got the chance for the first time to admire her naked body in good light.