Playing With Matches

Last Saturday I rallied my friends to see a band.

Tickle my balls is coming with us, my friend C. texted me.

This is the guy who drove me home from a bar once this summer, kept stopping to pee on the side of the road, then just took off his pants and started masturbating.

At the bar, he was hitting pretty hard on one of my friends.

He’s not a good kisser, I told her. He isn’t good at anything.

Really? she said.

She didn’t believe me.

So she took him home.

She called and told me I was right, he’s not a good kisser. But she’s going out to dinner with him  Friday. In the morning, he took her dogs out. And he didn’t pee in her driveway.

He was on his best behavior,  she said. Can we not call him, Tickle My Balls? 

No, I said. He’s been named.

She was looking forward to dinner Friday, but he cancelled.

Then called at midnight. Saturday night he called her a couple times after 1 a.m. She didn’t answer.

He’s off the list, she said.