With barely a month of dates under my belt and blissfully looking forward to our next rendezvous, I innocently asked the man I’d been seeing, “So, what do you want to do for our date this Saturday?” He freely replied, “Try on a harness!” Admittedly, I was a bit tongue-tied as I searched for an answer to conceal my surprise. The only prior dating definition I had for “tying one on” typically involved two very aggressive friends: gin and tonic. And although the toxic pair could—on festive occasions—be held responsible for stirring things up, there were never any restraints involved. Usually my date would politely request that I vacate the premises, and I would hazily oblige. But, my new boyfriend (who wishes to remain nameless) was adorable, so I agreed.
Our Saturday afternoon date with domination was anything but dark. The Southern California sun was beaming, which beautifully reflected the shop’s (nearly) satanic moniker, “one # before Hell”! But its name was quickly overshadowed by the provocative window displays flanking the entrance. For years, on my way to the gym, I’d walk a little slower when I went past the store. It held a curious lust, like that neighborhood house from your childhood riddled with mysterious lure. Through overheard gossip, you feel as if you know everything about the inhabitants. Thus it offers some semblance of familiarity, and yet entering its interior seems much too daunting—especially for a date!
But as my date and I entered the fetish boutique—although I was smiling on the outside—inside, I wondered what he thought of me. Did he think I was a bondage bad boy? Would his definition of dating involve a constant need to rein me in? Could black leather become a romantic requirement? But I knew it was still too early to form the usual relationship ties. So, in I went!
The interior of the store was like any standard boutique (except for the dildo display appropriately positioned at the rear of the store). Its walls were lined with leather confections and round racks of fashionable fetish-wear filled the room. The Goth girl seated at the counter seemed unfazed by our presence, and returned to her reading once the door shut and the store fell silent. This made me feel oddly at ease—like church. Thus began our search for a harness. Nothing made sense, and I quickly learned there was no room for practicality when shopping for (his) fantasy, so I remained silent, keeping all questions to myself. Eventually he found a desired harness and went to try it on. After endless adjustments to his selection, it was time for reflection. All at once we both turned our gaze toward the mirror. Silence. Suddenly it all felt like a mistake. I was at a loss for words—like I’d already been gagged. I was having a hard time with his dressing-room display of domination, and it wasn’t in a good way. Then, with one swift slap of words, my date tied it all up. “It looks like a bra!” he revealed in a youthful tone. Then like two (devilish) kids, we left the store giggling. But like most novel experiences, I just couldn’t control all the unanswered questions in my head.
As an adolescent, often times when things arose I didn’t understand, I went to the logical place—my parents. But, as they are both deceased, I would have to go to the next obvious place for answers. I’d ask Daddy.
Daddy Don, the man responsible for protecting me from countless taxing situations, conducts his accounting business under the aforementioned moniker. He also held the regal title of Mr. Los Angeles Leather 2002. So, in between a taxing session of handling my various forms and figures, I decided to ask, “So, um, Daddy?
I’m um, not really sure how to ask this, but why do you wear that leather harness? Do you wear it if you’re a top or a bottom? And um, like I get the whole Tom of Finland thing, but why don’t they update the styles? Like with the chaps—they could lower the waistline, add metal hand grips, use different kinds of leather, maybe even use a washed denim? And do you think 20-year-olds really get it? And why is everything so expensive? What’s up with that—because it’s a fetish thing, it has to cost $200? I could cut a hole in my own underwear for free! And what if you’re young and you want to be a daddy or you’re old and you don’t? If you’re skinny or not very hairy, can you still be a bear?”
Daddy just stared across the desk at me. Silence hung over the room. “Follow me!” Daddy commanded, simultaneously forcing the chair away from his desk with one sturdy thrust. He stood, and exited the office. I obediently trailed behind him into the main house of his compound. I already understood that I’d blurred the lines with my endless trail of questions, but now I was unsure about how he would tie things up.
Once we reached his cozy sleeping quarters, he immediately began rummaging through the bottom drawer of an over-sized oak dresser shoved in the corner. A black-and-white Tom of Finland painting stared down at me from one wall. One by one, leathery things flew across the room, landing on the bed. Then Daddy turned around, and in his hand he held up a mangled mass of embellished leather strapping. “Take off your shirt! ”he directed. I quickly did as I was told. “Turn around!” he barked. I obliged. And as Daddy tightened the last buckle, he grabbed the back of the harness (which I was now wearing) and spun my face toward the mirror. It was an oddly alluring display. I’d become the man on the wall—a leaner, meeker version of the motorcycle cop in the painting. And behind me, trapped in the reflection, was Daddy. His muscular frame and large, kind eyes had acquired a mischievous twinkle, which further accentuated the erotic vision. Daddy had fastened me into a new man, and I was bound to find out more.
As I left the confines of Daddy Don’s lemony compound, the incident weighed heavily on my shoulders. My messenger bag was stuffed with gifts—a completed tax return promising a large refund check, and two leather harnesses: one for me and one for my new boyfriend.
And while I rode home on my bike, I thought about the valuable—albeit disciplined—lessons I’d learned from Daddy that day. It’s always beneficial to explore new things; it’s essential to ask questions; it’s important to trust in others; and, if something starts to hurt, you should always have a code word. But, the most important lesson I discovered for myself was if you’re not willing to explore new ways, to redefine your boundaries, then you can never expect to get much pleasure from life. And if you don’t even try, you might just go through life feeling like you’ve been gagged and blindfolded!
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