If you’ve got a hookup horror story, send it in using our submission form. All stories will be made anonymous. Try to keep it under 500 words. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.
Beale Street Booty
Trey from Memphis, TN
I had grown up in Memphis and trekked off to a Midwestern school for college, because I just felt like it. I settled on a big state school in the heartland and joined a fraternity, which ended up being a great decision overall.
My fraternity decided to have their formal in Memphis during the first semester of my junior year. It would be a weekend-long affair, with the actual “formal” being on Saturday at some fancy hotel ballroom. Friday night went off without a hitch, which is to say that no one got arrested or lost. But on Saturday, everyone turned into a pack of wild animals.
Dinner began around 8pm, but our football team, who was ranked in the top 10 that year, was playing late that afternoon, so most of us headed off to a bar to watch it. It was an awesome game. We beat the hell out of one of our rivals. A friend of mine, Brent, and I had decided to take “touchdown bombs” for every single touchdown our squad scored. We put up 31 points in the first half.
Needless to say, Brent and I were completely wrecked by halftime. The mixture of Red Bull, Jagermeister and whatever else they were putting in the bombs had us in a state of drunkenness and hyperactivity. The game was soon back underway and we put up another 17 points in the third quarter, and Brent and I put away more bombs. At this point, we were completely gone. Dead-eyed, blacked out morons who had to be at dinner in less than an hour.
The game ended with us winning 55-13 (I had to look up the score later, because I blacked out mid-third quarter). Brent and I made it to the formal dinner, allegedly. Our dates were obviously furious and left us in the ballroom. This is all alleged, because I don’t remember a damn thing.
Anyway, some time much later in the night (morning?), I came out of my blackout on the dance floor at some shady-ass club, grinding up on this very large African American woman. She had her hand in my pants, and my unit was in full view of anyone within five feet of us. I ran back towards the bar and tried to find a friend. Anyone. God, please help me.
I decided to book it back out onto the street. The large woman had followed me into the street and was shouting at me. “Where you going? Why you leaving?” I decided it was best to just not answer and aimlessly run to another bar.
“OH SO YOU’RE GONNA LEAVE ME AFTER I GAVE YOU HEAD, MOTHER FUCKER?!”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Oh, dear lord. No, God. Please, no. I began recalling her stuffing me into a closet in the back of Alfred’s, but didn’t remember much after that. I could tell that my ween had been in something and that I had indeed achieved climax.
I sprinted back towards the hotel and crashed into my room, to find me and Jason’s dates passed out in the beds. I have never been more ashamed.
Fire Down Below
Heather from West Chester, PA
My boyfriend and I decided to host taco night (#PGP) at my place one Saturday night. We told our friends to come over around 6:30 for margaritas and guac, because who doesn’t love those two things.
My boyfriend, “Todd,” started working on the guac and I started on the taco meat and such. We took a couple of tequila shots to get our buzz on before our friends arrived. Also, the thought of hosting people in my own home terrified me, so getting drunk was a must to suppress my anxiety.
The sight of a man working in the kitchen got me all hopped up. I snuck up behind Todd and started making out with him a little bit and then we just went for it right there on the counter. To think we were going to serve people this food that had been in close proximity of sex.
Todd stuck his hand down my pants and right as I was getting into it, my lady business started burning. He had jalapeno juice from the guacamole on his hands. I freaked out and ran into the bathroom, trying to cleanse myself of the fire down below. Water only made it worse. Todd said he heard that milk worked. It did, temporarily, but the pain was unbearable at this point.
There I sat in our kitchen, without pants on, covered in milk, crying on the linoleum. So like any good boyfriend, Todd took me to the hospital where I had to disclose what was wrong with me. I could tell the nurse was judging me, like she had seen this before.
I soon panicked after realizing that we’d probably have to call off taco night on the account that my own personal taco was ablaze. Todd told everyone that I had come down with food poisoning and we postponed until next weekend.
They say that sex can be made better with food. Unfortunately on this night, it forced me into my own personal hell.