Friday Night

I’m glad I made it home alive.

The girl I met last night was nothing short of a psychopath.

I’ve been going out and picking up girls in bars every Friday night for years. I like the casualness of it. We’re all there for the same reason and nobody pretends otherwise.

I surveyed the bar and spotted a blonde-haired girl who was yet to be hit on. She was absolutely gorgeous and, if I’m honest, more than a little out of my league.

I thought what the hell? and sidled over to her at the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink?”  I asked her.

She looked me up and down and replied: “Honey, you’re going to need a better line than that.”

She was right. It was a stupid opening gambit.

I licked my finger and touched her blouse with it. She looked puzzled.

“How about I help you out of those wet clothes?” I asked, smiling.

She let me buy her a drink. And then another. We talked and she kept scowling at the barmaid who was attempting to flirt with me. I found her jealousy to be quite a turn on.

Before long she whispered in my ear: “We’re going back to my place now.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Once back at her apartment we undressed quickly. I’ve always been a huge fan of sexual congress and I was keen to get it underway as quickly as possible.

She tied me to her bed with four silk handkerchiefs. Kinky, I thought, as I laid there like an aroused starfish.

She left the room and returned moments later carrying a large knife. It gleamed in the dimly-lit bedroom.

The unnerving development had a wilting effect on me and I began to squirm in an attempt to get free.

The girl laughed. “I only want one!” she cackled.

“What?” I yelled as I continued to thrash about.

“One testicle,” she explained, as if it was a normal statement.

I had nothing to say to her at this point. I was almost paralysed with fear.

“It’s for my art project,” she slurred, and gestured towards a shelf at the far side of the room.

The shelf housed jars of various sizes. Each jar contained what I assumed to be testicles. There must have been hundreds of them crammed into the glass vessels.

“You’re fucking crazy!” I remarked.

She laughed again.

I know I’m an awful human being, but the terrible act I’d committed was what ultimately saved my life.

The girl began to stagger as if more drunk than she was. She seemed confused and her eyes began to look heavy. The knife fell from her hand and she collapsed on the bedroom floor.

The roofie I’d slipped into her last drink had finally kicked in.

It took me a little while to get free, but once I did I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I might stay home next Friday night.