‘How do you feel about gasmasks?’

‘I love them! I wore one at my last private party!’

‘Put this on.’

Let’s be clear: I had been stood up. Second time in two days, actually – making up for the plethora of women last week – but, both were first dates, this is wholly expected.

The first, she’d gotten to a point of needing some sort of romantic resolution with a man – maybe I’ll see her later, who knows. We did get along well – scary well, no way I coulda kept that up – a sardonic solace there.

But the second lady, she had a friend to help. Said in such a way, it can sound like anything – an emotional crisis, a stranding, anything.

No worries – I knew she was polyamorous. (I toldja Baltimore is full of ‘em.) Don’t think she said it explicitly in her profile, but had that ‘Available’ tag reserved for the taken but not. I wasn’t looking for anything serious here, but perhaps just a little diverting fun.

Then she let’s drop – actually, I’m being stood up for a fetish event. And I’m welcome to come – it’s at the Hustler Club.

I debate a bit – but not really, know me you know I jump at the chance to try things – end up, 8 or 9 that night, sitting amongst an eclectic group of leather and suits.

My ‘date’ sends someone to fetch me – turns out she’s not allowed to leave her post, she’s a sub for the night. I’m standing talking with her for a bit, say ‘We can sit down,’ but she says no, she can’t – but I can, enjoy the show.

No sooner have we gotten the briefest of salutations out of the way, she’s being hogtied on a booth and shocked with a wand. The Dom makes her hold the thing, creating a current – a number of us run our hands along her flesh, creating surface static – strong enough my hand is tingling for 10, 20 minutes afterwards. Her evening’s Dom hovers, nearly kissing her, as blue charges jump from her mouth to his. This is not a usual first date.

After, she’s buzzing. She tries to talk, but can’t really. Eventually, just as she’s coming down and approaching normalcy, she gets tied again – this time to an x cross, topless, with switches and whips flogging her body.

Now, everyone involved in this strip club event was friendly – but I definitely was apart. I spent most of the time ignored, since I wasn’t part of the festivities – just watching.

And while I learned some facts about my ‘date’ – which the writer in me wants to talk about, but the human in me wants to conceal, she might like her privacy – I didn’t ever really meet her last night. She was in another state – high on adrenaline, cozying with one or another member of the group, and taking her brief moments of lucidity to her phone to keep the rest of life in order.

The fetishes were no doubt interesting – the candle show (that one poured hot wax down the ass crack, and into her mouth)… the dominatrix (if I hadn’t talked earlier with the little cute thing bent over the horse, getting paddled and clamped in the worst(?) of places, I would swear she was suffering and bearing, not lividly loving)… the conflicted strippers – enjoying the show, loving the play, whipping select customers, a little resentful of all the attention they lost – and, people, I lived in Thailand a year, I wasn’t being shocked here.

But, all the same, the whole night I felt the outsider. Even the strippers didn’t come with their usual honey traps, assuming I was with the fetish group. I spent long stretches sitting alone, staring at tits. Ok, it wasn’t so bad.

But will I ever see the lady again? Who knows – I feel like I’ve yet to meet her – or maybe I met the real her, and it’d be awkward to see her clothed, talking of the nose on that burgundy.

Or maybe I’ve seen her deepest corners, and instead of tensing at that thought, she’ll relax and gush forth – well, as much as someone else’s wife who loves playing with everyone can.

That doesn’t really matter tho. Here’s the point: While the night was fun, and a great way to get to know someone better… it was an awful way to get to know someone from the first.

Rule #49: Don’t Get Fancy

Listen, I love a good date idea. The wilder and more interesting, the better. But, if the idea is SO great that it steals the show, and gives you no chance to get to know a person… well, it’s not much better than going to the movies. Save that for folk you already know a bit – when you’re still in the who-are-you stage, keep it simple. Have something in your hand – a mug, a fork, a wine glass– and a space quiet enough to talk. That’s really all you need.

Everything else just gets in the way. And if you can’t captivate each other now, when every story is fresh and your quirks remain charming, then disguising that in an acrobatics class isn’t going to help. Get to the point – then get zany. And never stop being zany, at that.

That’s great advice. I’ll never follow it – the next time someone says I’m standing you up to jump out of a plane, I’ll grab a ‘chute – but, don’t be like me, kiddies! Be sane! Your fortune will be better – trust.