How Not to Get Laid

He wasn’t the best-looking guy, but he was confident and charming in an “I’m a nerdy badass” kind of way. That’s why I went out with him in the first place. He was upbeat and weirdly funny, and by the end of our second date, I was still intrigued—not sold on him yet, but intrigued.

We were walking on the Upper West Side, where we both live, and we ended up outside his place. He feigned surprise. “So, I actually live right … here. Wow, how’d that happen? So you wanna come upstairs?”

See how this can be perceived as kind of charming if one doesn’t know any better?

“I can’t stay long. I’m meeting my friend at 10:30.” Which was true. And which I’d brought up several times already including before our date when we were first making plans. No matter. I was fine with a brief visit upstairs. Maybe we’d make out for a bit, see what that was like, then I’d go meet my friend. Good plan, right?

Apparently not what he had in mind. We entered his tiny studio apartment to the sounds of – I kid you not – Barry White. He must have had his iTunes playing on a continuous loop the entire time he was gone. There was a bottle of red wine on the table, and he had his futon neatly made with a red rose lying atop the sheet, sitting next to – are you ready for it? – a pair of handcuffs.

Do you know how, in a movie, you have those moments where you suddenly realize that the character you’ve been following isn’t at all the person you thought they were, and then you flash through everything they’ve done up to that point with a different set of eyes? And you realize, “Oh my god, of course! How could I not have seen?!” Similar scenario.

Don’t remember exactly what I said in reference to the handcuffs, but it was something along the lines of, “You can’t be serious” and I got the sense that, even though he tried to laugh it off, he was.

“Too soon?” he asked with a weak smile.

Um, yeah. I was out of there in about five minutes.

Submitted by Dalia, Age 24, NYC

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