In truth, I wasn't even sure I wanted to go to the class. The city at night seemed aglow with the variety of encounters this made possible.
Suddenly, a hand-held device allowed me to write something I didn't have the courage to say to someone over the phone, never mind in person, and then to sit back and wait, burning with anticipation, for a response. I should point out that I had only recently discovered the ease of texting. That night, I sent a text message to Darla, suggesting we attend. A friend of mine had just been to an S/M party, and returned swearing that everyone should try it. At the very least, it was more original than a bar or a club or a show. It might speed up the expensive and psychically exhausting courtship ritual, and give us a shared experience to discuss. But I thought it would be a kind of anthropological adventure for Darla and me. I was not involved in the BDSM scene - in fact, I'd never even considered bringing sex toys, far less weapons, into the bedroom. Then one day, I came across an ad in the Village Voice for a workshop called "Erotic Bondage and Dirty Domination," given by the adult sex shop Toys in Babeland. We talked amiably over the phone a few times, but I never asked her out. After we tied the mattress to the roof of her Subaru, we exchanged numbers. As we squeezed the mattress down the stairwell, she explained that she was on a roller derby team, and that it had kindled in her a new sense of self-confidence and female solidarity. She asked if she could lie down on it, and I politely averted my eyes as she bounced and flopped around. The first to show at my Brooklyn, N.Y., apartment was an attractive brunette in her mid-20s named Darla. A few years ago, I put my old queen-size mattress up for sale on Craigslist.
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