Intimate Encounter Derailed by Emotional Baggage
Published March 27, 2026
"Just tie me up," I said with a sigh, trying to salvage what was supposed to be a night of passion. Ken* wiped tears from his face, sniffled, and nodded meekly. I watched him take the red ropes from my hands, still crying, as he began moving toward the headboard. Before he could proceed, I stopped him.
"This is ridiculous! We can't have sex with you weeping like this! You've got to get over your ex!" Exasperated, I got off the bed. Unfortunately, my frustration only made him cry harder.
As I rolled my eyes and attempted to console him by placing his weeping head against my chest, I couldn't help but reflect on our first night together and how dramatically different it had been.
A Promising Beginning
I met Ken on Tinder back in 2019. His profile revealed little beyond his height – 6'2" – but what mattered to me was that he was handsome and available for an evening of passion. Our exchange was minimal: I immediately asked if he wanted to have sex, and he responded with an eagerness that made me feel desired. We arranged for him to come to my flat at 8 p.m.
When my doorbell rang, I rushed to let him in, excited to meet this mysterious man and enjoy a guaranteed sensual night. He was as handsome as his photos suggested, but he carried a melancholy that followed him like a persistent dark cloud. Sitting on my sofa with a glass of wine, he seemed withdrawn – then he suddenly blurted out that he had just broken up with his ex.
"Oh dear," I replied uncertainly, not knowing how else to respond. I quickly changed the subject.
After a few glasses of wine, he loosened up considerably and smiled much more frequently. He possessed a gorgeous smile, and I was genuinely pleased to see it. We began making out on the sofa, and his strong arms lifted me on top of him. I knew we were heading toward sofa sex, and the anticipation was thrilling. The inability to wait before tearing each other's clothes off created an incredibly hot atmosphere.
The sex proved to be great – by the end, we found ourselves on the floor, giggling together. I invited him to stay over since I had another bottle of wine for us to finish. We polished off that bottle before retiring to the bedroom for more intimate moments.
The next morning, I woke up to find he had already left, leaving a note on my desk: "Last night was great, see you again soon?" I thought it was cute – and since I maintained a rotation of a couple of men I was sleeping with, I felt excited to add him to the roster.
The Second Date Disaster
We soon arranged another date at my place for a week later. I didn't hear much from him for about five days, but he eventually sent a message on the day itself, stating: "I'll be there at 9 p.m." His radio silence had felt somewhat strange, but that uneasiness vanished as soon as he messaged – I was simply happy he was coming over for round two.
I had developed a specific craving I hoped he would fulfill: I really wanted to see if he would tie me up that night. However, when I opened the door, everything changed dramatically.
He appeared slightly drunk already, with bloodshot eyes that suggested he had been crying. "Oh," I managed to squeak at him as he stumbled inside. "I had some of the wine already," he explained, lifting the half bottle of red in his hand.
"Okay..." I replied, immediately regretting that I had invited him over. My voice must have betrayed my feelings because he immediately started crying and apologizing profusely.
"God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do. I can't believe she's already seeing someone," he managed to say through his sobs. I realized he was talking about his ex.
"Okay, but aren't you sleeping with me?" I half-mumbled, still hoping he would hear me. The double standards of men never cease to surprise me. According to his perspective, she shouldn't see anyone, yet he felt entitled to sleep around.
"Do you want to go home?" I asked, crossing my arms.
"No, let's do this. I want to," he insisted, standing up and moving toward the bedroom while grabbing me along the way. He started kissing me with his wet cheeks pressed against mine, his snotty nose rubbing against my skin. I felt completely turned off.
The Final Straw
That's when I asked him to tie me up – perhaps something exciting and fun like this would turn the situation around and allow him to momentarily forget that his ex had moved on. But it simply wasn't happening.
"Get out," I said, lifting his head from my chest with my hands.
"What...?" he answered, looking utterly helpless.
I felt somewhat bad, but I couldn't console a man I barely knew just because his ex-girlfriend was sleeping with someone – especially when that was precisely what he had come over to do with me.
"Just go. There's no point in you being here," I stated firmly.
I could hear him sniffling and gathering his jacket behind me as I went to unlock my door. By the time I turned around, he had already disappeared. I never heard from him again.
I'm certain that a woman telling him to "get over his ex" and "get out" wasn't what he expected that night – but then again, I'm not sure what he had anticipated. I'm just grateful I maintained a roster of men – because an hour later, Panos* came over and tied those ropes against my wrists exactly how I liked it.
*Names have been changed
