An Unwitting Discovery

I was just about to compliment her, when she said, "Your report has the cutest style of writing, Tommy."

"Huh?" I wasn't sure, but I thought it might be a joke. "I'm still working on my English. Not everyone can write as beautifully as you, Suz." That got me a little punch... Note to self: Don't truncate Suzan's name.

However, just moments later she scooted her chair caddy-corner to mine and had me in an intense lip lock. It was a little awkward, in the straight-back chairs in which we sat but Suzan was definitely turning me on, something fierce. Her arms were tight around me and her hands were caressing my back. My hands were combing through her long, strawberry blonde hair. I brought some forward to my nose, inhaling deeply.

Until that moment, I didn't know how much I had a thing for hair - or, at least, the smell of it. Hers smelled good. There was no restaurant odor, that night, to mask her scent - just pure, unadulterated Suzan. The scent didn't just remind me of my favorite feather pillow; there was something else, there, I couldn't quite put to words. It was definitely enticing my hormonal response, so it was probably a pheromone. However, just giving it a technical name didn't really do it justice, either. We kissed and groped for a long while. Our willpower kept things just on the edge of exciting, without crossing the boundary. Around ten we decided to call it a night. She was the one who noticed the time; I was completely oblivious by then. My brain was nearly in overload.

"I'm working the lunch shift tomorrow, but I'm off for the rest of the weekend."

"We should do something that doesn't involve kissing, my lips are out of practice," I joked.

"Yeah, we should," she said, as she pushed my chest playfully.

"How about if we have a picnic in the park and then take in a movie tomorrow night?" I asked.

"Okay. You want to pick me up?"

"Yes. What time do you think you'll be ready?"

"Probably by 3:00; they are usually slowed down by 2:00, and let us go."

I walked her to her car again. Opened her door and held her hand as she got inside. Then I ducked my head into the car door and gave her another kiss.

"I'm really looking forward to tomorrow."

"Me too."

---

The next day I slept in. I kept having the best dreams. One good one would roll into the next. All of them had something to do with Suzan. I finally awoke just past noon, but evidently I had needed the rest. I frequently found after learning lots of new stuff, reading or even lengthy stressful events, I would go into hibernation mode the next couple days.

After my shower, I did some laundry in the small, stacked washer-dryer set in the utility closet of my efficiency. It was the thing that'd sealed the deal on my choosing this place. The shared laundry facility, in the dorms, had sucked; people kept taking my clothes. Using the laundromat had been worse. I might have grown up in a double-wide, but public laundry just plain weirded me out. I wandered into the kitchen in my boxers to make some simple sandwiches and wash up some fruit to take on the picnic. I also set out some water bottles I had filled at the tap and got some crackers. It wasn't going to be anything fancy. I just wanted to change the venue a bit, to reduce our temptation. Last night had been hard - pun fully intended. The memory of Suzan's lips on my cock was still too fresh, and I didn't want the proximity of a bed to tempt either one of us to renege on our agreement to wait awhile.

When I'd finished making most of the preparations for the picnic, I moved the laundry up to the dryer. I passed the time, during the drying cycle, playing a little on my guitar. I couldn't play too loudly because the neighbors would complain, so I went through a few of the softer country tunes I liked. I can't sing very well, but sometimes I try. I kept coming back to Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Susie-Q". Yes, I definitely had Suzan on the brain. She - and an unidentified number of her roommates - had been out, and she was on her way back to her apartment. Her text included her address.

I pulled the warm shorts and a shirt from the dryer and changed into them. Gathering the items for the picnic into a brown paper bag, I headed down to my Taurus. The drive over to Suzan's was fairly short. Her place was in a decent apartment complex, where all of the two story buildings were laid out in long rows. I found her Corolla and parked next to it. Her apartment was toward the end of one of the buildings, and she met me at the door in a terrycloth robe, just as I walked up the sidewalk.

"Hey, I just got out of the shower when I saw you out the window. I'm about ready. Come in and have a seat."

Taking me by the hand, she gently pulled me through the doorway and into a short entry hall that, in turn, opened into the downstairs portion of the apartment. It contained an eat-in kitchen, a small living room, and a 'powder room' - a small closet-sized area fitted with a sink and toilet. I understood, from talking with Suzan, that the upstairs contained four bedrooms and two baths.

I couldn't vouch for the upstairs, but the downstairs looked more like a furnished apartment. They had way more furniture than I did - but I guess, with four girls living there, they could more easily afford the furniture. Next to one of the two sofas, a scuffed and scratched guitar perched in an old stage guitar stand. I was about to go check it out, when one of her roommates strode out from the kitchen area, clad in Daisy Dukes, a very skimpy top, and - clearly - no bra.

"Barb, this is Tommy. Don't mess with him!" she said in a serious tone. Then, she disappeared up the stairs.

Barb rolled her eyes at Suzan's remark. Then she stood there, studying me for several moments. I got a really odd vibe from her, but she finally went upstairs without saying a word to me. As I looked around, I could see the apartment wasn't very tidy. It wasn't so much a lack of proper housekeeping, as it was, clutter. I was a little surprised, but then as I understood it there were four girls living there. Suzan had described the apartment as being 'four walk-in closets and two bathrooms.' Pack four college girls into a tiny place like this one - with what most girls 'need' to survive a long trip away from home, and there'd be bound to be more 'stuff' then there was, places to put it all. I knew that my mother couldn't even take an overnight weekend trip, without packing for or five outfits, in case the weather changed, and a huge makeup kit and toiletries bag.

I looked around the room for a moment, finally picking the cleanest, least-cluttered place to sit. That happened to be the couch next to where the guitar was standing. Feeling a little restless, I reflexively reached for the guitar. The condition of the instrument only appeared to be bad; in fact, most of the 'damage' I saw was purely cosmetic, the kind of scuffs and scratches that come from long years of use without receiving any tender loving care. I took a closer look at the instrument, inspecting it for cracks, poor joints, or other faults in construction, and found nothing major. The maker's name had long ago been worn off the headstock, so I peered into the sound hole and was pleasantly surprised to see the familiar C. F. Martin logo on the bit of paper glued to the inside back of the guitar, together with a date that indicated that the guitar had rolled off the Nazareth, Pennsylvania, factory's assembly line in 1980.

Though it was okay, structurally, it was badly out of tune. I spent a few minutes tuning it by ear, and then strummed a few chords to check it out. The tone sounded excellent, and there was no 'fret buzz' on any of the strings, from the nut to the bridge. It wasn't a bad guitar, after all. It had just seen a lot of use - or, perhaps, abuse - over the years.

I heard a rustle across the room, and looked up to see Suzan standing at the foot of the stairs. She'd apparently been standing there, quietly watching me, for a couple minutes. She was dressed in a nice pair of khaki shorts and a turquoise blouse that really picked up her emerald eyes. She smiled at me as she crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa, next to me.

"I should have known you'd play."

"Yeah, I play a little," I said, as I played a few chords from 'Susie-Q.'

"What made you pick that song, to play?" she asked, looking at me in surprise.

"I don't know," I shrugged, "except for the fact that your name is 'Suzan'."

"Not counting 'Oh, Susanna', which is a like one hundred fifty years old, and 'If You Knew Susie', which goes back to the 1920's, and Johnny Cash's 'A Boy Named Sue', there are at least ten songs from the Rock and Roll era that mention Suzanne, Susan, Susie, or Sue. Why did you pick 'Susie Q' to play?" she persisted.

"I really don't know, Suz," I answered her. "It's just that something about you makes me think of that song. That's all, I swear."

"Then, I guess our study sessions must have our brains syncing up with each other," she laughed.

"What makes you say that?" I asked her.

"Well, I really am a 'Susie-Q'," she smiled at me. "My middle name is 'Quinn'. It was my mother's maiden name."

"Oh - I didn't know that," I said. "You never told me."

"Well, I'm not terribly crazy about it, because it makes my initials 'SQS' - 'squeeze' - but it's my name, so there's nothing much I can do about it," she sighed.

"Well, when you finally find the right guy, maybe you'll get a different last initial, at least," I suggested.

"Yeah, right!" she snorted, laughing. "And, if you turn out to be that 'right guy', then I'll be a 'SSA'."

"But you'd still be my 'squeeze'," I retorted.

"Your 'main squeeze', eh?" she smiled. "I think I could get used to that."

"My only squeeze," I corrected her. "The word, 'main', would mean 'primary', and infers the possibility of secondary or tertiary. I'm a one-woman kind of guy."

"That makes me happy, Tommy," she said. A cute smile formed on her lips and she asked, "So why don't we take that guitar on our picnic; maybe you could serenade me." Her face was gleaming.

"It's your guitar?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, but I don't play very well - and I had to stop taking lessons several months ago, when the teacher at the local guitar shop nearly doubled his hourly rate.

"Perhaps I could give you some pointers," I offered.

"Would you? That'd be great!" she said, enthusiastically. "But, we really ought to get going. We're wasting daylight, and there are two other nosy women in the kitchen who are bending an ear to hear what's going on, in here. I don't think we want an audience, do you?"

"No!" I agreed. "I didn't even know they were there," I added, dropping my voice to a whisper.

"Well, let's go."

Out to the car, I opened the trunk with the key fob so she could deposit the picnic blanket and her guitar in with the other items. The look on her face told me she was surprised about something.

"What?" I asked.

"Tommy, this car - it's - it's like new. I don't think I've ever been in a new car."

"Oh, yeah - uh - my Dad. He wanted to make sure I could get around and probably wanted to make sure I'd come to see him."

"He must really care about you," she said. There was some underlying tone there I didn't get and I didn't want to push it too much.

I opened the passenger door for her and she got in. She was clearly wowed over the leather seats and interior components. I closed her door once her legs were in and got in on the driver side.

"It's even got a USB connector and an AUX input for a phone or music player," she marveled.

"It sure made the long drive here, from Corpus Christi, nice. It's not new anymore,though; I've already put nearly ten thousand miles on it."

"It screams 'road trip'!" she said and broke out laughing.

I started the car and headed to a nearby park that I knew had picnic tables. The park was fairly active with people enjoying their Saturday afternoon on this late August day. We chose a table away from most, but it was still far from private. The table we picked had some shade, due to an old, gnarled maple tree whose trunk must have been two feet across. I put a sheet on the table and set the paper bag out. Suzan set the guitar beside the table and began pulling things from the bag inspecting them.

"I'd just made some simple stuff, hope it's okay," I said.

"Of course," she said. She sat down and unwrapped a tuna sandwich and took a big bite. "Mmm, just enough relish and mayo, not too much."

"I didn't really get a chance to go shopping today, I totally slept in. So, I made those quick," I admitted.

"It's good, I wasn't being sarcastic. Stop being so tense. We're both here for the same thing."

"I'm sorry, Suzan. It seems like I'm anxious with you around - like that first day, when you introduced yourself. I was all kinds of tongue-tied."

"I thought you were cute," she replied.

"Honestly, I've never had even an 'average-pretty' girl walk up and introduce herself to me, and then start a conversation - let alone a drop-dead-gorgeous woman like you. It just doesn't happen, to guys like me."

Suzan was blushing a little, "I know I'm attractive. I've been told that, time and again, since I was about ten, and I've finally accepted it - reluctantly. But being attractive is almost as much a curse, as it is a blessing. The guys with the egos - the ones who think that they're God's gift to women - all seem to think that all they have to do is walk up and say 'Hi', and the girl will swoon all over them."

"Yeah, I've seen those guys; I just don't get why girls go for them."

"Meanwhile, the truly NICE guys? They all figure that a girl that pretty is already 'taken', so they never even make a move."

"I think I would have made a move, eventually," I offered.

"Well, when I saw you looking at me, that first day, I read it in your facial expression, and body-language. I was pretty sure you'd love to walk over and say 'Hello', but were intimidated by my looks."

"I did, but I thought it might be too quick. I wanted to pick a better time."

"Well, you made a really strong impression during our second class together. I just couldn't leave it to chance. I had to find out if you might be one of the nice guys. I was worried you might never make the move, or that some other girl would snag you away from me. So I pounced!" she exclaimed lightheartedly.

"I'm forever in your debt," I replied sincerely.

"We'll see," she teased. "Really, though, I was okay with you being all 'tongue-tied', too. I've seen it before. It just verified my suspicion that you one of the good-guys," she said

We talked for the rest of the afternoon. The time just flew. We talked about what we thought we wanted to do in life. I explained how and why I'd recently change my goals, which led to me telling her more about my family. I didn't get into too many details about my Dad and Aunt, but enough that she knew they lived together following their respective divorces. I even told her about some of my life in high school and living in the trailer park.

Suzan shared a little about all the different places remembered living: Alexandria, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Boston, and Durham. She'd lived in a couple that she didn't really remember. I could see how that much moving could give a variety of different perspectives. Especially the way she explained how she often felt like an outsider, everywhere she moved. It set her up to be an observer and maybe why she was drawn towards the sciences. She was still avoiding saying much about her dad, but I understood that.

She had me play guitar for her, for a while. Then she showed me what she'd learned in her lessons. She had just begun taking them when she was a freshman. I gave her a few pointers, which was a very 'hands-on' session. We made out a little, but not too much groping; people were around and walking passed us periodically.

Around dusk I said, "I looked up a few movies at the dollar movie place. I haven't seen much of anything in a theater."

"I took a look too, it is the same for me. Movies are a luxury our family didn't take. There was one about a time traveler."

"The Time Travelers Wife?"

"Yeah, it seemed interesting, but I'm up for whatever you like," she said.

"I thought about that one too, let's go give it a look."

We packed our stuff back in the trunk and drove over to the cheap movie place. Their money was clearly made on the concessions. We opted to just get drinks. The movie was pretty decent. Suzan really liked it. We held hands the entire time. The ending was sad and Suzan had some tears welling up.

"Sorry, I didn't know it was a sad one," I told her once we were back in the car.

"It was good. Romantic and sad."

---

Over the next few weeks we kept things on a very even keel. Our BIO class was going great. Suzan and I had both gotten A's on the first test. Professor Franklin had put nice comments on both our tests. My other courses were going great, as well. I spent most of my weeknights studying for them and left Thursday and Friday for working with Suzan. Although, we had also started doing our other homework and study in my kitchen, too.

Our weekend dates gave us more time to get to know each other. Suzan even rearranged her work schedule, so she was off every weekend. We went to some of the film noire showings, on campus, as they were free. We visited the museum of life and science. We took a day trip, hiking on some trails around Pilot Mountain, an extinct volcano about an hour and a half from the university.

We were getting along fabulously. We were constantly kissing and petting and, though those 'other' desires were always lurking in the back of our minds, we managed to avoid giving in to those temptations. We both realized there was too much at stake, to take the risk. We knew all kinds of things about one another: things we liked or disliked, our hopes and desires, musical tastes, reading interests, and probably a hundred other things.

Eventually, we'd reached the point where we'd seen each other on good days and bad, in fair moods and foul, and nothing had changed the way we related to each other, except, perhaps, to deepen the love we'd already developed. About the time I realized that, I decided that it was time for us to take that next step in our relationship. I knew that I couldn't love her any more than I already did, even if I tried. For her part, Suzan had occasionally dropped little comments to me, alluding to a similar realization. She'd also dropped a few subtle hints that, whenever I was truly ready, she was quite willing to pick up where we'd left off, that very first Friday morning.

Still, I wanted to do something to make it a truly memorable occasion, for both of us - not that our first time, making love, wouldn't be memorable. I knew it would be, but I wanted 'special', not merely closing our textbooks and strolling back to my bedroom, something a bit on the 'exotic' side, something...

During the last week of September, the inspiration came to me. We were driving home from another one of our frequent picnics, and Suzan was 'gushing', once again, over my Taurus. It seems that the 'stigma' of a pastor driving around in a 'posh' new car or appearing to live anywhere except on the ragged edge of poverty, that had first appeared in the 'Jim Bakker' scandal days of the mid-1980's, had never truly died. Thus, Suzan's father had always opted for cars that were several years old, though in serviceable condition, and which did not sport the 'luxury package items' of higher-end cars. The bells and whistles that came standard with my Taurus had never ceased to fascinate her.

The whole incident reminded me of that first time I took her anywhere, in the car, when she told me that the vehicle simply 'screamed road trip. I knew, in that moment, that whatever the 'special' time was, that I planned for us, it would involve a road trip. But, where to? After a bit of pondering, I thought about the beach. I'd driven down to Myrtle Beach, one Saturday, in the late spring of my freshman year. It was an easy drive, long enough to be a road-trip, but short enough not to be either tiring or boring.