by Gustavo Melo
Even though I consider myself attractive, as a guy, I never worry about someone drugging me in public. So, when I woke up dizzy and confused, I knew something had gone wrong. I was in an unknown basement with no recollection of how I got there. I did remember picking out the shirt I was wearing: a brand-new corduroy long-sleeve from Banana Republic I bought last Black Friday. I waited until now, five months later to wear it. I was saving it for the right occasion and my third date with Catherine seemed worthy.
I did the logical thing and tried the door up the stairs, but of course, it was locked. There were no windows in the room, just a toilet, a mattress on the floor, and a box of Kleenexes by the mattress.
“Hello? Is anybody out there?” I frantically asked as I knocked on the door to no response.
As my shirt indicated, last night was supposed to be special. Before Catherine and I even matched on Hinge I fell for her. She was extremely beautiful and I’m sure that if I had read her bio, it would have revealed a great personality under those breasts. I’m joking, I read and re-read her bio fifty times before our first date. I hadn’t met her yet, but I liked her and didn’t want to blow it. My vivid imagination means I can use five photos and some cheesy prompt answers to immediately picture our wedding day, but I was trying to play it cool.
Our first date was at this pizza shack voted the best neo-Neapolitan pizza in LA. The pizza was over-hyped, but the company was great. We had similar taste in movies and a similar dislike for highway tolls. When dropping her off at her place, I was so over the moon that I forgot to kiss her until she was entering her building. Like a maniac, I ran up to her and asked if I could kiss her. The kiss was consensual but felt forced, awkward, and mechanical. Still, when I got home and texted her saying I had a fun time, to my surprise she responded.
For our second date, we went to a museum where I tried my best to seem on her level. I’m no dummy, but Catherine was actually intelligent. I cringed every time I commented on the breasts of a painting, but my mouth gained a life of its own. I’m no connoisseur, but the Getty has the best breasts in LA. Probably due to its proximity to Bel Air. Still, we had fun and my mouth made up for it by crushing it on the goodnight kiss this time.
I already felt comfortable with Catherine, like I could be myself. My last girlfriend dumped me because I don’t “have a manly enough aura.” Something about having the brain of a teenage boy, and the cultural taste of a teenage girl. What’s wrong with appreciating both the thighs and the genius lyricism of Taylor Swift? She helped me through that breakup.
To me, “being a man” meant being confident. Being true to yourself. And I am that. This is why I didn’t hide my quirks. I embraced them by blasting “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” when picking Catherine for our third date at a bar. I think she found it cute and funny.
That date is the last thing I remember before waking up in this basement. We had two drinks, but I never left their side, so how could someone have roofied me? And did they intend on roofying her but got my drink by accident? That would make me a hero. Gustavo Melo, saving girls from rape, one drink at a time!
I chuckled at my joke before the silence of this dark basement finally took over. I had no idea why I was there or who put me there, but it’s almost like I wanted my captor to show up regardless of who they were. It was lonely in there.
There was nothing I could do, so I got in bed and tried to remember as many details as possible from the night before. I vividly recalled the satin dress Catherine was wearing. She looked stunning. I also remembered Catherine offering me a sip of her spicy margarita and the embarrassment of declining because I don’t do spicy… Finally, I remembered asking her back to my place.
According to every movie and TV show from the last couple of decades, the third date is when you have sex. That did not go unnoticed when I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom before leaving my house that night. We had great banter, I made her laugh all night, and everything seemed to be going well. After two drinks I couldn’t think of anything other than what was under that black satin dress. So, I proposed, “Should we go back to my place?”
“I don’t think so,” she responded gently with a smile. She was completely unfazed. It was as if she knew it was coming and had prepared her answer beforehand.
I couldn’t tell why the rejection, but I didn’t want to make it awkward, so I added, “No problem. It’s nice out tonight, do you want to walk around the block?”
The walk was my consolation prize. But that’s when things get blurry… I can’t remember anything after that. It took me hours to fall asleep in that basement. I kept my butt pressed against the wall all night as I tried to recall anything that might help me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t piece together the end of that walk.
The next morning, or at least I assume it was morning since I had no access to a clock or the outside world – I did have a boner, I was hungry, and my bowels were active, all great indicators that the sun was up – there was a plate of food by my mattress. I was still scared but it was some of my favorite breakfast items. This wasn’t kidnapper’s food; this was mom on a Sunday morning food. I ate it all, then like someone who had nothing else to do, because I didn’t, I went back to bed.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but someone would have to show up soon. Why keep me captive and feed me twenty dollars’ worth of food to watch me sleep? I was starting to get more worried about what could have happened to Catherine, than what would happen to me. You don’t give somebody fresh squeezed orange juice if you’re planning on killing them anytime soon. And you most definitely don’t filter out the pulp, a gesture I appreciated.
As I woke up from my nap I saw Catherine near the stairs. For a moment I thought I might still be dreaming, but I soon realized she was there I rushed to her aid. “Oh fuck… they got you too?!” I needed to make sure she was okay, but she seemed calm and exasperated by my concern.
“They? What are you talking about? I thought we could watch the new Ashton Kutcher rom-com together.”
There was a couch and a TV in the room. I looked at the door upstairs and it still seemed closed. Not only that, but the couch was way too big to have fit through that doorway…
“Cat, what’s going on? I’ve been here for two days now. I was worried about you.”
“Oh my God, I’ve been busy. Two days is nothing. And don’t call me Cat, my ex used to call me Cat. But hey, I want to hang out with you as well, which is why I’m here. I like you. Let’s watch the movie.” Without waiting for my response, she pressed play on the remote. The intro with the studio’s logo started, followed by aerial shots of the city to some happy song, but all I could do was stare at her. “You’re distracting me. Come, sit down.”
Catherine grabbed my hand and guided me to one end of the couch, then proceeded to sit on the other end. She kicked off her shoes, and put her feet over my lap, all without moving her eyes from the screen.
“Where am I? Did you put me here?” She shushed me. I watched her for another moment. “What is the plan? I want to get out.”
“Stop interrupting the movie,” she commanded, which pissed me off.
I pushed her feet off my lap and raised my voice. I barely recognized myself. The last thing I wanted to do was intimidate a woman, much less one I liked, but something took over.
“Listen to me. I have no clue of what’s going on, but you better start giving me answers right now, or–”
“–OR WHAT?!” She interrupted me. Her innocence was gone, she looked terrifying. She stared at me and didn’t blink until I budged by taking my seat again.
She seemed to like that because this time she moved closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder.
“You’re going to love this movie,” she said with a new demeanor, cute and bubbly again. I was scared and disconcerted but being close to her made me relax. Made me feel safe. The glow from the TV highlighted her glow. The romance on the screen put me in the mood for romance, so when Ashton moved a lock of hair off Reese Witherspoon’s face, I did the same. She giggled at it. My opening. And just like that, I made a move to kiss her.
She saw it coming and the look on her face didn’t showcase any enthusiasm for it, but she did not move away. She kept her mouth available, but when my lips were about to touch hers, I blacked out…
I woke up confused and alone again. The TV and the couch were gone, and I still had no idea what was going on. I also had no clue whether Ashton and Reese ended up together. I banged my fists against the door for what seemed like hours. It was useless, but there was nothing to do there. Nothing but wait for the next meal, which I had no idea when was coming; take a dump, which I didn’t need to do until the next meal arrived; or sleep, which I was getting tired of. Nothing to do, except…
I thought the box of Kleenexes was there for my tears. I realized that might not have been the case. Or at least they didn’t need to be, so I put them to use.
Six to seven times is my estimate. I don’t remember for sure, but I was shooting blanks by that point. It had become more of a chore than something pleasurable, but what other options did I have to pass the time?
“Naughty boy!” Catherine said walking into the room. I yanked my pants back up. “But I’m glad you’re getting it out of your system, so you don’t get out of line again.”
“Enough. Let me out of here. Now.”
She blankly stared at me.
“Catherine, I’m not joking. I like you and I don’t want to hurt you, but if you–” she interrupted me with a slap across the face. My blood was boiling now, I bolted towards her, ready to pin her against the wall and force her to let me free. But I couldn’t hurt her…
“You are going to treat me with respect.”
“I’m sorry…” I couldn’t believe myself when I uttered those words, but I did.
“Thank you. Now, do you want to hang out or not?”
I did want to hang out. That’s literally all I wanted to do. I wanted to hang out with her even more than I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to make her laugh, and I wanted her to playfully punch my arm, and I wanted to kiss her lips again.
“Do you know how to braid hair?” She asked to which I shook my head. “That’s okay, it’s easy.”
Catherine sat me down on the mattress, then sat between my legs and used her hands to instruct me on how to braid. She was gentle and patient, and her hair smelled like peaches. Stockholm syndrome is a coping mechanism in which a victim develops feelings for their captor. I already had feelings for her before she became my captor. Now I was hoping this would have the reverse effect on her where she would develop feelings for me.
“I went on this date last night.” I stopped braiding her hair the second I heard those words, but without even turning she grabbed my hand and guided me to resume. “He was terrible. The first thing he said when he saw me was that my dress was ‘hot, but a little too long’ which wasn’t even true. I had to pull down on the skirt all night because it kept riding up.”
I started to get angry. Confused, but mainly angry. Why was she telling me any of this?
“Speaking of riding up, after sushi which he made me split the bill, we had sex in his car. Is that bad?” She didn’t even give me time to answer, not that I knew what to say. “He wasn’t even that good, but oh my god the girth. If I didn’t leave the restaurant feeling full, I definitely did in his car.”
Fuck it. “What a whore.”
“Excuse me?”
I didn’t let her intimidate me this time, “You heard me. Do you think it’s funny to go around hooking up with guys on a first date? Do you think this guy respects you at all after this? Do you–”
“–I’m warning you, stop.”
“Have some self-respect. What do you–”
“–Think carefully.”
“A girl like you is good for nothing but–”
“–Bye Gustavo.” And I passed out again.
I have no idea how much time went by, but the moment I woke up she was there. Waiting. Different outfit, completely different hairstyle, but the same attitude.
“I could use your help right now. Will you help me, or will you throw another tantrum?”
“…What do you need?”
“I went on another date. A hiking date this time, and–”
She went on to talk about her date with a different guy who seemed to be the opposite of me. I started to question why she matched with me on Hinge in the first place. I didn’t want to hear about these dates, but it seemed like we had a good time when she shared her stories with me. She would tell me all these crazy things she did. I wondered why we didn’t do them, but I would crack a joke and she would smile. That slightly crooked smile would make me forget where I was. For a few seconds, it would take me to another dimension.
This became my new routine. She would come in, tell me about her romantic escapades, and then leave. I would eat, sleep, masturbate, and wait for whenever she would show up again. This went on for days, probably weeks, maybe months. I had no notion of time, especially when I was with her. Sometimes what seemed like a couple of days would go by and I wouldn’t hear from her, and that’s when I would worry. The food would always show up, and no matter how many times I beat my meat, the Kleenex box never seemed to end. I wanted to get out of there but it could be worse.
If I tried asking her about what was happening or where I was, she would switch subjects. If I insisted on it, I would pass out again. I learned not to probe because I didn’t want to miss out on spending time with her. Sometimes we would watch movies, sometimes we played board games, and sometimes we just gossiped. As embarrassing as this might sound, I became an expert hair braider and nail artist.
“Who are you?” I thought I heard as I was coming out of a deep sleep. I had had no sign of Catherine the past two nights, so I hadn’t been sleeping well. “Where am I?” I opened my eyes and there was a scrawny guy, about six feet tall, with glasses and a kind face staring at me. It had been so long since I last looked in the mirror that if someone told me this was my reflection going rogue, I would have believed it. The only difference was that he was annoying. “I’m scared. Please don’t hurt me.” He said crying and wasting my jerk off Kleenexes on actual tears. But then I noticed those weren’t my Kleenexes, there was a new box. And a new mattress… I had no idea what the fuck was going on there, but I wasn’t happy about it.
I explained to him as much as I could given that I still had no real information. At least his presence eliminated my theory that I died and went to either Heaven or Hell. Which one I thought I was, depended on the day and Catherine’s tales. The one time she told me about the sex dream she had with me made me positive I was in Heaven. That didn’t last long. The next day she got drunk at a party and had a threesome with two guys named Chuck who kept chucking her around the bed and high-fiving. Hell for sure, even if I used those details with my Kleenex box once she left.
“Tell me exactly what’s the last thing you remember,” I asked.
“I was on a date. My fifth date with this gorgeous woman I met online. I was nervous because she seemed to like me whenever we were together. But when we would go home, and I’d text her she would take forever to reply. So, I decided I would blow her mind with this date. I meticulously planned everything. Purple orchids for when I picked her up; reservations at a romantic French restaurant way above my budget; and a chariot ride back to my place so we could drink as much orange wine as we wanted.”
“A chariot ride in LA?”
“It wasn’t easy to arrange, but believe me, this woman is worth it.”
“I’m sure. So, then what? Did you get to go back to your apartment?”
“That’s when things get blurry. I remember surprising her with the chariot outside the restaurant. But, my memory trails off there. Oh boy, I hope she’s okay. And I hope the meter on the chariot isn’t still going. They charge by the gallop!”
“Tell me a little more about this woman,” I inquired, positive I knew who it was.
“She has a smoking body and a gorgeous, slightly crooked smile. Her intellect is almost as big as her breasts, and her hair smells like peaches. What if she’s in danger?”
Fuck. It was hard listening to all that. I took another good look at the poor guy and then a good look at myself. I am a fantastic pickleball player, but exercising, especially working out, isn’t my thing. Or at least it wasn’t, because as he went on to ramble about how worried he was about Catherine, I started doing push-ups. After I was dying on the ground with only six successful ones completed, he described how he planned his first kiss with Catherine on their second date. That gave me the energy needed to do more push-ups. I don’t even know how many more because that’s all I did for the next few days.
One night Catherine showed up with avocados from Mexico’s facemasks for Mike and me. That was the poor bastard’s name. I figured he would get angry at her, raise his voice, and pass out like it had happened to me. Nope, not my boy Mike. He jumped on the opportunity to paint her nails, despite his ignorance around prepping the cuticles. That confirmed my suspicions and gave me faith in my new plan. Don’t take me wrong, the proposition of her feet on my face as I painted her toenails was very much alluring. But I still declined it.
“What do you mean no?” Catherine asked confused.
“I’m not in the mood right now. You two can hang out, I’ll chill with my facemask over here,” I said taking a seat on my bed. There was nothing better to do. There was nothing to do at all. Still, I was trying something new: trying to make myself unavailable.
It backfired. I mean, it worked, but it felt like someone fired a shot at my back when Catherine switched from abusing Mike to being all over him. She started flirting with him and rubbing herself over his body. Even though her hands were all over his torso, I knew exactly where her eyes were: on me. She was punishing my rebuff. The only person who didn’t realize what was going on was Mike. Don’t feel bad for him though, when Catherine saw I was sticking strong to ignoring her, she kissed him. Full-on lip-on-lip action and nobody passed out, although I wish I had.
Nonetheless, her forcing interest in the weaker version of me fueled my quest for muscles. I spent most of my days running laps around the basement, practicing sit-ups, and using an old pipe to do pull-ups. All while Mike would craft something even worse than poetry. Free-verse poetry.
The more I worked out, the more frequently Catherine would visit. Poor Mike must have thought she was in love with him. Every night she would kiss his neck and sit on his lap, but never more. All while commenting on how I was getting big.
I am not proud of what I’m about to say next, but it got to a point where my lack of interest was driving Catherine nuts. To slow my progress she started giving me less food. More unhealthy items. It became a carb fest at an intentional calorie-deficit diet. So, I started stealing food from Mike.
If I woke up to a Twinkie and chocolate milk for breakfast while he had scrambled eggs and soy milk, I would eat his food. It was rude of me, but he didn’t need the energy to rhyme “love” with “forever.”
One night Catherine pushed it to the limit. She was half-naked on top of Mike as Pretty Woman played on the TV. I had my back to them doing reverse push-ups.
“What’s your problem?” She shouted at me pushing Mike’s slobbery lips off her shoulders.
I ignored her for a long second as if I wasn’t aware she was talking to me despite it being just the three of us there. I took off my shirt revealing newly carved muscles and shrugged, before resuming my routine.
Catherine got up and marched towards my face. I was scared shitless but stood firm in ignoring her. At least I tried, but that became impossible once she grabbed my cheeks and kissed me. She devoured my face.
I swatted her hands away and picked her up. She lost her focus. I pinned her against the wall and whispered in her ear, “Give me another ten to finish this set.” Then, I made out with her for a second, threw her on my mattress, and continued to exercise.
I could hear Mike weeping in the corner, but he did not say a single word. Catherine watched me as I took a plank position staring at her. I had no idea how long I would be able to stay there, but I knew my plan was working. I needed to beat her, so we locked eyes for an eternity. I could feel my arms about to give up, but I did my best to hide any sign of weaknesses. I could tell she was about to break.
“Fuck me!” She asked, with Mike now sobbing in the corner.
“Could be fun after I’m done here,” I said staying strong in my plank, ignoring every plea for mercy from my body. She shook her head and walked up to me. We exchanged a look, and I got up.
She smiled. I smiled, in relief but pretending I was flirting. Slowly she led me up the stairs. The door unlocked itself, and we walked out.
“Can I watch?!” Shouted Mike as the door slammed in his face.
I was free. Finally free in this suburban-looking house. My first thought was how could a house have a basement in California, but I stayed true to my character. I didn’t rush, I didn’t say anything. I stared at her which made her immediately kiss me. I kissed her back but without much enthusiasm. The kiss was consensual but felt forced, awkward, and mechanical.
When our mouths came apart, she looked at me devilishly and took a knee. I smiled at her. She teasingly unbuttoned my pants and yanked them down. To her complete confusion, as she was about to lower my underwear, I stopped her. This shocked me, but it was no longer a ruse. I meant it.
“I don’t think so,” I said gently with a smile. Completely unfazed. A contrast to the utter shock and panic that took her over.
“Wait? What? But–” And as she struggled to find words, the basement door behind her creaked open. “No! No, Gustavo, I’m falling for you! Don’t do this to me!”
I wasn’t doing anything, but something pulled her into the basement. Some force dragged her inside and the door closed shut and locked itself. I could hear her desperation through the door, “I love you too! You’re like a sister to me!” I shouted as I walked away.