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version.
     
    She would normally watch something like that on her laptop using her ear buds. But I surprised her by offering to watch it on TV with her.
     
    So she grabbed a small blanket and lay beside me. It wasn’t even half over when Ashley fell asleep on my shoulder.
     
    Stroking her hair, I lowered the TV sound and thought of the first time I’d met her, five summers ago, at a Columbia alumni party at an Upper West Side bar. Five blocks from where we now lived.
     
    She wore a stylish, black, cocktail-type dress, and she captured my eye the moment I spotted her.
     
    She was a classic, dark-haired beauty. I was struck by her excellent posture and the grace and ease of her movements.
     
    Her smile was warm and girl-next-door American. Her slightly Asian looking eyes gave her an exotic quality. Her legs were thin and tanned. And her breasts, though revealing almost no cleavage, stood out magnificently in that dress—full, firm and natural.
     
    I’d always been drawn to big breasts. And thin, tight, compact brunettes. In my early teens, I watched reruns of Dallas and lusted over Victoria Principal. Ashley reminded me of her.
     
    At 5’4” and barely one hundred pounds, I found her unbelievably hot. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
     
    I was determined to at least introduce myself. I asked my few friends there, but no one knew her. One said she looked like she was still a freshman.
     
    Finally I walked over and asked the three girls in her group how they were doing. I didn’t claim to have organized the event, but I tried to create the impression that I was important—a significant alumnus.
     
    I asked their graduation class and surmised they were around twenty-five.
     
    I mentioned that I worked at a hedge fund in midtown, propped up my position there, but that was a conversational bust.
     
    So I went from boasting to humility.
     
    “You know,” I said, “I nearly dropped out after my first month.” They all gave me a look that invited me to continue talking and explaining myself. “Well,” I began, “I had broken my arm just before and arrived a week late. Cliques had already formed. My roommate was a football player who was never around. “But mostly,” I continued, “my econ professor asked me after class why the school would admit a dunce like me. Told me I would be lucky to last past the semester. For the first time in my life, I started thinking I was dumb. You know, where you’ve been told you’re smart throughout high school, and then there you are in New York City. It can be a cold and lonely place when you’re a seventeen–year-old kid on his own for the first time.”
     
    “I know what you mean,” Ashley said, stepping conversationally forward. “I had never experienced city life. It took a long time for Manhattan to grow on me. I didn’t grow up on Zuckerman’s farm or anything, but the pace and crowds and noise had me mega-homesick. And I’d studied piano since I was six. I planned to major in music. I thought I could go professional. But when you’re not in that top one-half of one percent, all you get is rejection for anything serious.”
     
    “Zuckerman’s Farm?” I asked.
     
    “It’s nothing, just a silly reference from Charlotte’s Web .”
     
    Soon we were talking one-on-one and I couldn’t believe it when she said she was single and agreed to a first date.
     
    It became coincidental that she would refer to that book. I later introduced her to a friend when we were first dating who told me, “Ashley has such a soothing voice. I would love for her to read me Charlotte’s Web, and just before drifting off to sleep, I’d blow a load in her face.”
     
    I wasn’t offended, I laughed. I had no idea the relationship would continue. I told him he lived in a fantasy world but agreed that Ashley spoke in a uniquely calming way.
     
****
     
    As for my first actual date with Ashley, I was mighty nervous, and impressing her was the priority.
     
    It was an