Alright, it’s clear I’ve had a checkered dating past. I mean, not altogether unsuccessful; I have a moderate amount of charm to get me into and out of most situations. But also, not altogether successful. It I would write a non-fiction novel it would be titled, “Ten Reasons why she’ll Never Sleep with You.” That being said, checkered, but the failures have been way funnier than the successes. Exhibit A, my first date in L.A.

Her name was Emily and it was only one date. Kind of. Upon moving to Los Angeles and searching for a job, I found a job as an editor at a travel guide in the Valley. Recently single, I was interested in getting myself out there as quickly as possible. To that end, the female who trained me caught my eye. She wore her hair back a little too tight and her glasses were a smidge too thick, but still, something intrigued me. So I asked her to dinner and she agreed. She said there was an oyster house she’d had her eye on and it was agreed that I would pick her up and we’d hit up the oyster house.

And so, I arrived at her condo dressed sharp and ready to live my life as a bachelor. I rang her door bell and heard her scurry behind the door. She opened the door slightly and called out as she rain away.

“I’m still getting dressed. Just wait for me in the living room.”

Entering her ornately designed place, I stepped into her living room. As I entered the room, a surprise caught my eye. I’m not sure if you all are familiar with the photographic artist, Robert Mapplethorpe. He was an artist in the 70’s and 80’s who took photographs of males and females in… lewd and lascivious situations. On the wall of her living room, rested a large (I don’t know the dimensions but LARGE) framed black and white photo of a naked black man, bent over with a bull whip shoved into his ass. You heard me.

As I stared in confused horror, I remember thinking that the whip must be large and I wasn’t seeing a whole lot of it. I called out to Emily.

“Is that a Mapplethorpe,” I asked, my voice cracking like a pre-pubescent teen.

“It is, do you like it,” she replied.

“I uh….” I failed to finish my response.

“It’s going to be chilly tonight,” she called out. “Could you grab my sweater from the closet?”

“Sure,” I murmured, still transfixed by the sodomic male in front me. As I searched and found her closet, I continued to be awed by the photo. I opened her closet and found her sweater. Looking deeper into her closet, I found something else. The Gimp outfit from Pulp Fiction.

Now, I’m not scared off by a kink or two (maybe even three) but the evidence was mounting that I might be over my head. As I stared at the S & M suit, she snuck up on me.

“You ready,” she whispered, as I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“F-F-for what,” I whispered back.

“Oysters, silly,” she kissed my cheek.

I giggled nervously and nodded in assent.

We went to the oyster house but she and I didn’t click. Perhaps it was the fact that a medieval dungeon seemed in my future and I just wasn’t ready for that. It made for an awkward few weeks at work as I wondered, every time she passed by, if her gimp outfit was at the cleaners. Oh well, ya win some and ya lose some and sometimes ya get tied up.

Kevin R. Andrade