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Humpday Hookup Horror Stories: Burning Rubbers

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If you’ve got a Humpday Hookup Horror Story, submit it HERE. Try to keep it under 500 words. All submissions will be made anonymous. Thou shalt not judge, lest ye be judged…

Gameday Get Down
“Jeff” from Pittsburgh, PA

Went back to my alma mater for a football game a few weeks ago. It’s a division-II school, but the tailgating scene is one of the best in the country, as far as D-2 schools go. It’s a sloppy, sloppy mess of humanity and always guaranteed to get out of control. Since I still have some degenerate qualities myself, I couldn’t wait to get back to town. I have a few buddies who are still in school and their fraternity throws the biggest tailgate on campus. It’s littered with girls, booze and they don’t mind it when some old alums stop by to get rowdy.

I was talking to a sophomore (maybe she was a junior?) girl, let’s call her “Jessie,” for about a half hour when she started wondering where her friend was and asked me if I’d help her go look for her. Game over. The tailgate was in the backyard of the frat house so we headed inside, going room to room looking for this mysterious “Michelle.” Sounded made up. After several laps around the house, Jessie started crying and it dawned on me that “Michelle” was all too real. Swallowed up by a sprawling fraternity house. I know fraternity guys get a bad rap, but I knew these guys all had good heads on their shoulders and were high quality individuals. I assured her of that. I was still a little concerned. Jessie was too. She started crying even more hysterically after our failed attempts at finding her. She sat down on the couch and I asked her to call her other friends, but their phones were dead. Perfect. I gave her a hug and tried to tell her that we could keep looking, when the door busted open. It was one of the guys who lived in the house, with Michelle in tow, obviously shithammered drunk.

“What’s the going the fuck on here?”

I quickly saw how messed up the situation was. A GDI sitting on a couch with a crying girl. I was screwed. The guy marched towards me, yoked me up by the collar and I was about ready to accept my future as a future World Star viral video sensation (“Guy Gets His Ass Beat in the Middle of Crazy Frat Party”) and was waiting for Jessie to come to my defense, but she had already hightailed it out of there with Michelle. Perfect. Also, his girl had left and now I was stuck in a room with this asshole who was ready to pound my face. I thought about jumping out of a window.

He let go of my shirt and whipped around. “Where the fuck did they go? Did you make her cry?” I quickly explained that I was here with friends, that she was crying because she couldn’t find her friend and asked me to help her. He was shockingly sympathetic, offered me a beer and we headed back outside.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

Burning Rubber(s)
“Tim” from Atlanta, GA

This story is probably going to make you want to hurl/spend the rest of your life in fear of condoms, so please bear with me. A few years back, I had hooked up with one of my friend’s ex-girlfriends. When I call this guy a “friend,” I really just mean that we shared a few friends and had no more than five conversations longer than five minutes during the entire time we knew each other.

We were steadily hooking up for a few weeks and the ex had been texting her for a few days, wanting to meet up and talk, as desperate exes do from time to time. Did I feel bad for porking this guy’s former lover whom he still had feelings for? Yes. I was ready to break things off with this chick due to overwhelming guilt. Couldn’t handle it anymore. I was ashamed to look in the mirror. Not even kidding.

So, the night I planned on breaking it off, we ended up having sex before even having the conversation. I’m not a shitty person, I swear. So let me cut to the chase. We had finished up and I was ready to have the talk with her. As you can probably guess, the worst possible outcome happened next. Her ex showed up at the apartment. She had apparently texted him to come over but “not until so much later” as she tried to explain to me and then told me I had to go. I threw my clothes on, shot her a death stare the entire time, booked it down the stairs and out the back exit. I decided to take a walk before hailing a cab home. Maybe that would cure the blue balls.

After cooling off a bit, I got into a cab and headed home. It had been close to an hour after I had left her apartment. I was shifting uncomfortably in the backseat, mostly to accommodate my swollen balls. Then something else started bothering me. Yep. I still had the condom on and it was dry. Yes, lube dries and so does pre. Semen turns into super glue when it dries, mind you. The pre had somehow made its way down to the base of the condom and it had adhered to everything. When I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING. I rushed into my apartment and hopped in the shower and blasted my crotch with warm water. I thought I was good to go. Nope. As I peeled off the condom, it was like tearing a band-aid off. The pain was unbearable. Imagine trying to rip off your own manhood. It was horrifying. In total, the process took 30 seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Somehow, I was all healed up by the next morning and there was no damage to be seen.

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