Robin Zero

My outdoor escapades had started on the night of an unusually cold storm the previous winter. The first snow in a couple of years was forecast and I had a sudden urge to expose myself to the weather. I ran down the quarter-mile drive through the sleet, put the house key in the mailbox, returned to the house and stripped down to my underwear. Then I thought of a way to add spice to the experience - I put on handcuffs before locking myself out of the house. The gusty wind rattled the leaves of the palm trees and the sleet grew heavier. Even in the shelter of the carport I felt cold and was reluctant to venture out. I began to regret my impulse but decided there was no point in waiting for the weather to improve. As I dashed down the hill for the key, sleet pelted my face and my bare feet splashed through cold puddles. The top of the mailbox was crusted with slush. My feet were numb. I grabbed the key, ran back up to the house and released myself. Standing in a hot shower, I was pleased with my adventure, even though I had cuts on my feet that bled into the water. I decided to try again as soon as I could, protecting my feet but making the bondage more severe. ...

My outdoor escapades had started on the night of an unusually cold storm the previous winter. The first snow in a couple of years was forecast and I had a sudden urge to expose myself to the weather. I ran down the quarter-mile drive through the sleet, put the house key in the mailbox, returned to the house and stripped down to my underwear. Then I thought of a way to add spice to the experience - I put on handcuffs before locking myself out of the house. The gusty wind rattled the leaves of the palm trees and the sleet grew heavier. Even in the shelter of the carport I felt cold and was reluctant to venture out. I began to regret my impulse but decided there was no point in waiting for the weather to improve. As I dashed down the hill for the key, sleet pelted my face and my bare feet splashed through cold puddles. The top of the mailbox was crusted with slush. My feet were numb. I grabbed the key, ran back up to the house and released myself. Standing in a hot shower, I was pleased with my adventure, even though I had cuts on my feet that bled into the water. I decided to try again as soon as I could, protecting my feet but making the bondage more severe. ...

Part I: Reality When I first wrote this record of my night in captivity, I embellished the truth slightly to make it more gripping. The result read like pure fiction, which was not my goal. The version you are reading now is the unvarnished truth, my best recollection of the chain of events. It was two in the morning and I had been shackled for seven hours. Reclining on the couch in a red baby-doll nightie, I was totally relaxed. I was helpless, unable to escape, but confident of being free in time for breakfast. As sure as the Sun rises in the morning. There was no point in struggling because there was no escape, and no need to worry since I was certain of release when the time was ripe. No decisions need be made, no actions taken. A delicious languor crept over me. I was snug and safe in my little cocoon, quite self-satisfied. ...

Part II: Fantasy I was sitting at the kitchen table eating soup a few hours after my escape, thinking it over. It was sheer luck that I was free. Without the pilot light in the furnace, I would not have been able to see the combination lock. I should have extinguished the pilot when I was removing light sources from the area of my overnight bondage but I assumed it had been shut off weeks ago at the end of winter. I wondered if, without the lit pilot, I would have given up trying to escape by now and phoned for help. Probably not, so I’d still be down in the basement, twenty hours into an escapade gone wrong, chained hand and foot, dressed in a red baby doll nightie. ...