Born that Way

She didn't have the musculature of an athlete, but her body was toned and she didn't appear to have an ounce of fat on her. I saw with approval that her breasts weren't overly large; instead they fit her frame perfectly. "Thank heavens she doesn't have implants," I thought, "I hate those."

After we'd dried off and dressed, she led me out to the kitchen, where her roommates were having brunch. I felt somewhat embarrassed – there was no way they couldn't have heard us – but Susan nonchalantly introduced me to Missy and Briana, who certainly seemed unfazed by my appearance.

Susan explained that the three of them had been best friends together at Vassar and had reunited to room together after graduation. "We were known as the 'Three Miss-keteers' back in Poughkeepsie," she told me proudly.

After we'd eaten, it was time for me to be going. Susan rode down with me in the elevator and stayed with me on the curb while the doorman whistled down a cab. She kissed me goodbye, and then looked intently in my eyes. "Last night was wonderful – all of it. Call me."

I had no problem promising to do just that. As I got into the cab, she leaned down and said, "Surprise me again." Then she turned to go back inside, and the cabby pulled away into traffic.

Thus began our romance. The intervals between the time we saw each other rapidly declined until my trips to Mountain View and her travel to Boston were the only interruptions.

The extent to which we shared interests and tastes was truly remarkable; I thought about writing a testimonial for EyeContact. If there was any negative in our relationship, it was the self-imposed stress I felt at needing to find new experiences with which to surprise Susan. She loved them, and was always eager for the next one.

I tried to vary them. One time I took her up to Fort Tryon Park on the Hudson to see the Cloisters. Everyone who lives in New York has gone to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but surprisingly few visit the Cloisters, which is a branch of the Met. She loved the art on display, and enjoyed strolling through the gardens and the colonnaded walks even more. She thought it was a magical place.

Another time I surprised her by taking her on a Circle Line cruise around Manhattan. She'd never done that either, and she got a big kick out of playing tourist. I think we might have been the only passengers on board that day who spoke English.

Beth helped me secure tickets for an avant garde dance performance. The music was really weird and I had no idea what the dancing was intended to mean, but Susan loved it, and I got big brownie points for taking her.

As time went by, I found myself spending more and more time at Susan's apartment. For all intents and purposes, we were living together. Her roommates grew so used to seeing me that they virtually ignored me. Sometimes, however, I caught them making snide remarks when they thought I wasn't around.

Of course I also took Susan to my place in Brooklyn, but she clearly wasn't comfortable there. I could understand that: her place was a lot nicer and had more amenities. But I also felt that she and Beth didn't seem to get along. There was never any hostility, but the two of them just never seemed to warm up to each other. I wondered if Susan didn't care for Beth because she was a lesbian, or if Beth didn't like Susan because she was disappointed that Susan was straight.

The Hamptons

One Friday, we rented a car and drove out to the Hamptons to spend the weekend with her parents. As we headed out the Long Island Expressway, I found myself growing increasingly nervous. I had gathered that Susan's parents were quite well-to-do, and I wondered what they'd think of me. My anxiety was not lessened when Susan directed me to turn into a paved driveway that led to an oval turnaround in front of what could only be termed a mansion. I fully expected to see Jay Gatsby come out the door.

"Mummy, Daddy, we're here," Susan yelled as I wrestled our bags into the front hall. Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux came out of a back room at her voice and greeted their daughter lovingly before shaking hands with me.

Mrs. Devereaux ("Please call me Elaine") was a tall attractive woman, although she had clearly added some pounds and had undergone a couple of plastic surgeries. She took my hands lightly and shared air kisses with me. I was careful not to touch her face.

Walter Devereaux was stocky, but he looked as though he had been that way all his life. His hair, which was thinning and combed straight back, had turned white, giving him a distinguished look. Despite being in his late sixties, his handshake was firm.

The drive had been a long one, and since we had stopped to eat along the way, it was pretty late by the time we arrived. Accordingly, after some brief conversation, we were ushered upstairs to our bedrooms. Susan went off to what was obviously her old room; I was shown to a guest bedroom. Mrs. Devereaux let us know that breakfast would be served at 8:00 in the solarium; then they bade us good night.

Susan giggled and waved, then disappeared into her room. I got myself ready for bed, wondering what the next day would bring. No sooner had I turned off the lights than the door to the bedroom cracked open and Susan slipped inside. She had on a nightgown like a young girl might wear, but she still managed to look incredibly sexy.

She pulled back the covers and slipped in beside me. "Should we be doing this?" I asked anxiously. "What if your parents . . ." She put her fingers over my lips to shush me, and when I quit trying to speak, she removed her hand and bent over to kiss me passionately. As she began tugging at my boxer-briefs, she whispered, "Forget about Mummy and Daddy. I do what I want." After that, there were no words, just sighs and grunts followed by moans which I tried to muffle with kisses.

When I awoke the next morning, I was alone in bed. I checked the time and discovered it was already 7:30, so I hastily arose, showered and shaved, mindful of Mrs. Devereaux's breakfast schedule. At five minutes after 8:00, I found my way to the solarium, a large room with glass walls that overlooked the pool area.

"Good of you to join us," Mr. Devereaux spoke up, and I wasn't sure whether he was offering a greeting or a rebuke for my being tardy.

Over a breakfast I thought could easily have served twice as many people, Walter laid out the plans for the day. "I thought we might enjoy a light lunch out by the pool today. Then, we can take a spin around the area in the car and let Susan see how much has changed. Tonight we'll have dinner at the club."

I was disappointed. Of course I had nothing else to do, but I had hoped I might have some time just with Susan. This weekend, however, it appeared that was not to be.

After a leisurely breakfast, Walter and Elaine gave us a tour of the house and grounds. I could tell that the place was huge when we'd arrived last night, but as I walked through the long halls and oversized rooms, I was amazed. Their dining room alone was larger than my entire apartment back in Brooklyn. "If they walk through this place regularly," I thought, "how they could possibly gain any weight?"

After the tour, we all went back to our respective rooms to change. I pulled on some old board shorts and a t-shirt, then walked barefoot through the lush grass to the pool. This time, only Walter had beaten me. He was shirtless, and his paunch hung over the top of his swimming suit. He had seated himself under the cabana in the shade, and at his arm was a large pitcher of what I was to learn were screwdrivers.

The ladies then made their grand entrance: Elaine in a one-piece suit designed to hide her excess weight, Susan in a bikini that could arouse a dead man. I was a bit startled that she'd chosen such a daring outfit to wear in front of her parents, but they just smiled at their daughter indulgently and made themselves comfortable.

It soon became clear that the pool and the sun deck were for the ladies. While they lay out there sunning, Walter and I remained under the cabana drinking screwdrivers. He had already finished his second while I was halfway through my first.

As we lounged there, he began to expound on the current political situation. I was a guest, and, I like to think, a fairly intelligent fellow, so I kept my mouth shut and just listened. Politically, I considered myself a moderate, if anything, maybe a little right of center. Listening to Walter, I realized that he was somewhere to the right of Genghis Khan. He went on at great length about what was wrong with the country and what needed to be done to fix it. I just sat quietly as he pontificated, occasionally biting my tongue at some of his more outrageous statements. At one point I got a mental picture of introducing him to Mickey and Beth, and had a hard time stifling my laughter at that unlikely scene.

Between the warm sun and more alcohol than I normally drank, I found myself growing quite drowsy. Apparently, I wasn't the only one, for after we'd snacked on the canapes that had been brought out, we all retired to the house for an afternoon nap. I had planned to catnap for only a few minutes, but I was startled when I awoke to find it was mid-afternoon.

When I had dressed and come downstairs, Walter, who appeared none the worse for all the screwdrivers he'd consumed, piled us into his Jaguar XJ and proceeded to give us a tour of the area. Most of the conversation was directed at Susan: Mummy and Daddy were eager to point out all the things that had changed since she'd moved to Manhattan. As for me, I was content to gape at the mansions that backed up to the Atlantic. Clearly, there was serious money here.

By the time we got back to the Devereaux home, it was almost time for dinner. The dress code, I was informed, was casual, but I'd already guessed that casual here meant something different from what I would have worn back in Brooklyn. Accordingly, I pulled on a nice pair of slacks and a knit shirt, over which I wore a sports coat. I felt comfortable until I walked into the hallway downstairs to see Elaine and Susan wearing cocktail dresses that I thought would have been at home at the Academy Awards. I was ready to panic at the thought of embarrassing Susan and myself when Walter appeared. If anything, his clothes were more casual than mine: he hadn't even bothered to wear socks.

I was greatly relieved, and when we arrived at the club, it quickly became apparent that this dichotomy was the norm. The women all dressed to impress each other, and the men wore the most casual clothing their wives would let them get away with. Nevertheless, I noticed that the logos the men's clothing sported were all extremely expensive brands.

The dinner was excellent; the conversation not so much. Susan's mother essentially conducted a monologue filled with gossip about people and families I didn't know. Walter's conversation was limited to pointing out various men at the other tables and recounting how they had made their fortunes. There were several names I recognized from reading The Wall Street Journal, but after a while I found it hard to pay attention to his litany of luxury. My only relief came when Susan looked away from her mother momentarily to give me a quick wink.

When we returned home, Walter insisted I come into the library with him for an after-dinner brandy. As we sat in the big leather wing chairs, he proceeded to quiz me about my background and upbringing.

"So you're from Tennessee," he said. "Did you grow up on a farm?"

I had to smile. "Well, my great-great-grandfather owned a farm, but we've been city folks ever since."

"Oh," he said, "then what did your father do?"

"He was an attorney," I told him.

"Of course, of course -- Music City. He probably practiced a lot of copyright law: music, lyrics, recording contracts, that sort of thing," Walter mused out loud.

I loved my Dad and I was proud of him and his accomplishments. "Actually, no," I said firmly. "A lot of his work dealt with constitutional law. He even argued several cases before the Supreme Court."

"The Tennessee Supreme Court?" he asked.

"No," I said, "the other one."

The conversation seemed to die out after that. I don't know whether Walter didn't believe me or just didn't care.

I was relieved the next day after lunch when Susan and I were finally able to pile into our rental car and head back toward Manhattan. It was as though I'd been on trial the whole time, and I felt as though I had lost my case.

As I drove, I was remembering the events of the weekend, when Susan began to laugh. "You should see your face right now. You look like you've just returned from a trip to the dentist!"

Even I had to smile at that, but I wasn't ready to forgive and forget just yet. "Well, you'd look that way too if you'd just taken a drilling all weekend long. Are they always like that?"

She smiled at me. "Don't let them get to you. They're just a little over-protective. You have to remember that I'm their only child."

I looked at her curiously; we'd never discussed her childhood. "What was it like growing up in that household?"

"It was actually pretty funny. I had them wrapped around my finger from as early as I can remember. They had all these plans for me: piano lessons, ballet, exclusive girls' schools and what-not. But I didn't like any of that stuff and I just did what I wanted. They always caved in and pretty much let me get away with murder. Whatever I wanted, they got it for me. I was pretty spoiled," she said with a laugh.

"I remember they wanted me to go to high school at some stupid boarding school for young ladies. But I wanted no part of that, and the first week I ran away and stayed with some college guy I'd met at a party. They were frantic with worry, and when I finally came home, they promised never to try to make me do something I didn't want."

Then her face took on a more serious expression.

"For a while, I kind of ran wild. But in my sophomore year, one of my best friends lost her father in an airplane crash. Suddenly, all their money was gone and she and her mom had to move away to live with relatives. I realized that if something like that happened to me, I'd have no way to take care of myself. So I started getting serious about school and getting good grades. That's how I wound up at Vassar, and that's why I'm where I am today."

Then she suddenly gave me that mischievous grin. "But I haven't changed completely. I still do what I want, when I want."

I was fascinated to learn a little more about Susan's origins; I thought her story explained some things about her personality. But I was still smarting from the examination I'd endured that weekend, so I brought the conversation back around. "I don't think I made a very good impression on your folks this weekend."

"Oh," she said dismissively, "don't take it personally. They don't think anyone is good enough for me." Then she got a gleam in her eye. "But Daddy did warn me to get a pre-nuptial agreement with you!"

I sat there trying to digest that last comment. On the one hand, I was angry at the implication that I was some sort of gold-digger out for the family money. Hell, until this weekend I hadn't even known how wealthy they were. But, I suddenly realized, she and I hadn't even talked about marriage. Did Susan say something to her father? Could she be hinting that she'd welcome a proposal? Suddenly my heart was beating faster. I knew I was head over heels for her, but I wasn't sure she felt the same way about me. Could this be an indication of her true feelings? I reached over the center console, and we wound up holding hands all the way back to Manhattan.

Unfortunately, I didn't have any real chance to explore Susan's feelings on the delicate topic of matrimony because I had to make another trip out west when I got back to work. And no sooner had I returned than she was off to Boston for several days.

The only positive thing about our travel schedules was that the day after either of us returned was marked by the most intense sex imaginable. It was as though neither one of us could get enough of the other.

I was not inexperienced when it came to the bedroom arts, but I quickly learned that I was merely a talented amateur. Susan was a virtuoso. She knew ways to take me over the moon, and she taught me how to do the same to her. Naturally, I was curious about how she had gained her expertise, but I told myself that I'd never expected to find a virgin, especially not in New York City. Whatever she'd done in the past, it was all to my benefit now.

It was while she was away on one of her business trips that I made the decision to ask her to marry me. Being bold had worked for me once with her; I decided to go for it again.

At lunchtime one day, I went to my bank and opened my safe deposit box. Inside a velvet jewelry box were my grandmother's wedding ring and engagement ring. She had entrusted them to my mother to give to me for my fiancée. Of course my mother never got the chance, but I had inherited the rings after my parents' deaths. I didn't know what they were worth in today's jewelry market, but the sentimental value of the antique settings was far more important to me, and I hoped Susan would feel similarly.

Susan's flight from Boston didn't arrive until late Tuesday night, and she was so wiped out that all she wanted to do was go to sleep. But before she did, I made her promise to go out with me Wednesday evening. "Do you have another surprise for me, baby?" she asked. "You'll just have to wait and see," I replied calmly, even as my pulse raced.

The next evening I met her at her office and we took a cab to one of her favorite restaurants for dinner. Afterwards, we went dancing at a club we frequented. We had a good time, but I could tell that Susan was a bit disappointed. Finally, when I thought the time was right, I grabbed her and pulled her to the door. I flagged down another cab and told the driver to take us to 5th Avenue between 33rd and 34th Street.

As we rode, Susan asked me where we were going, but I simply waved her off. The cab pulled over to the curb, and there we were, at the Empire State Building. Again, I ignored Susan's questions and led her to the elevators, where I pulled out the two Express Passes I'd bought earlier.

We rode up to the 102nd floor observatory in silence. Susan was obviously waiting for an explanation, but I said nothing. We walked out onto the viewing area, and I motioned her over to the fenced-in edge of the building. She gazed out at the sea of lights that was lower Manhattan Island, and then turned back toward me. "Well, why did you want . . ." Then she stopped and caught her breath as she saw me down on one knee, holding the open jewelry box to her.

"Susan Devereaux, this is my grandmother's engagement ring. Will you make me the happiest man in the world tonight by accepting it and becoming my wife?"

She paused in shock, but the tourists and other site-seers had spotted us, and they quickly took up the chant: "Say yes, say yes!"

She looked around, then looked down at me. Suddenly, her eyes flashed in excitement, and she said, "Let's do it! Yes, let's do it!" The crowd cheered, and after I had slipped the ring on her finger, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me wildly.

After that, we had to go back to her apartment so she could tell her roommates. Even though it was well after midnight, she woke the other two "Miss-keteers" up to show off her ring and recount the story of my proposal. The three of them exchanged excited embraces and whispered remarks while they glanced at me. I was a bit uncertain, but then Missy and Briana rushed over to hug and congratulate me as well.

When all the excitement had died down, Susan and I retired to her bedroom. She held me tightly in her arms and whispered in my ear, "Oh, Peter, that was the best surprise ever! Such a cliché! I never would have guessed!"