“You should really talk to someone,” Elise said, taking another sip of tea. We were sitting at our favorite little bookstore, complete with elderly gay owners, obligatory mean-eyed cat, and the smell of tropical exhaust from teenagers’ vape pens as they chatted about some obscure Manga. “I *am* talking to someone, Elise,” I chuckled nervously, “I mean, you do exist, right? I haven’t gone completely bonkers?”
Elise and I had known each other for years, veterans of a couple startups, some brick-and-mortars, and more ‘Tequila Tuesdays’ than we cared to (or could) recollect. It’s strange about kinky people, you just know sometimes. It’s like gaydar, but for people that have an affinity for bondage and fine leather goods. We’d had a lot of late night talks, but no romantic engagements; the timing never worked out. However, she was as loyal and trustworthy a friend as I could hope for.
“No, seriously, like a professional someone,” she insisted, “You’re carrying a lot, and I know you like to play the more dominant role, however, maybe you need to let down your guard a bit.” That hit home for me. I always put up the facade of the ‘go-to’ guy, both at work and at social functions, but like the old country song goes ‘the life of the party dies a little every night’. Elise had always been a shoulder to lean on, however, at this point it almost felt like putting a band-aid on a compound fracture.