I was never a ladies man. Even though I work out and keep my hair cut and my facial hair well trimmed and clean, I just don’t seem to rub girls the right way. I still find myself thinking of that day when Gina dumped me. She was a beautiful half-Colombian brunette. She was sweet, she was loving and, most importantly: She was kinky like me. She had a thing for being tied up, and she told me several times that she fantasized about being trussed up in a straitjacket and locked in a padded cell. I developed my fetish at age fifteen, when I walked into my mom’s bedroom and caught a glimpse of a character in her favorite soap opera being tied up in one. Gina had a similar story, but it happened when she was eighteen and she saw it on her abuelita’s favorite telenovela. Seriously, what is it with daytime TV shows and straitjackets?
I saved up money to buy an authentic Posey jacket, and as I was about to start saving to build a padded cell to replace the guest bedroom (which we never used; I’m not really a social butterfly), she dumped me. Out of the blue. I didn’t understand any of it. I had a really good and well-paid job, a nice house, a nice car and never once thought about cheating on her. Why would she just break up with me out of nowhere? The jacket arrived the next day, and I kept it in case some other girl wanted to try something freaky.
It’s been three years, and I haven’t even gone on a blind date. A few days ago, I found out via mutual friend that Gina had been having an affair with some guy named Carlos while she was with me, and she left me to be with him. They got married last Saturday.
Self pity is knocking at my door. I’ve convinced myself that I am the ugliest, most undesirable man on the planet. The only good thing that’s happened these past few years is that I gave up rum for Scotch… oh, and that trip to London. At least I still live in a nice house.
It’s the middle of winter. Today marks the day Gina and I would have celebrated our fifth anniversary. Spent the whole morning watching some Netflix trying to push my mind out of a bad place. After drinking a nice, cold IPA and having a fat steak for lunch, I asked myself something I should have asked years ago: What am I doing?
What am I doing indeed. It’s been three years I’ve been stuck in Dry Spell Hell. The fact that Gina dumped me for some doofus the day before I realized our fantasy of making her a willing mental patient really murdered my self confidence. I became afraid of risking being heartbroken yet again. But… three years? No; I’ve got to do something about it. That straitjacket’s been hanging at the back of my closet for too long, waiting impatiently to trap a beautiful maiden in her merciless embrace, and I was not gonna wait any longer for that girl to magically show up at my door like some fairy tale.
I took a long shower. Trimmed my beard, picked out my best blazer, put on some fancy cologne and headed out to Delirium; a local bar not too far from my place. It’s got something of a bad reputation, but it’s where all the action is, at least according to some of my coworkers. I was not looking for a new girlfriend exactly; I was looking for whatever I could get: A one-night stand, a friend with benefits, something serious… whatever. I was going to give it another shot: Get some or bust. I promised myself I would not come home alone.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i625jc/of_kindness_and_kink_prologue_dry_spell_hell