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Humpday Hookup Horror Stories: Hell Hath No Fury

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If you’ve got a hookup horror story, send it in using our submission form, and be sure to select “Column.” All stories will be made anonymous. Try to keep it under 500 words. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.

Black Out Nightmare
“Ben” from Kansas City, MO

This happened several years ago, but this is by far the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me after blacking out, college included.

It was our first game day weekend that we wouldn’t be on campus for, and me and my friends were obviously depressed. This depression/FOMO had awoken the animal within me, and I was determined to get sloppy drunk and hog out anything with a pulse. I didn’t care. I was in full-blown self-destruct mode. I was damn near broke from burning through my savings to pay off my student loans, unemployed, still living with my parents and hating life, but I’m much better now, so stop feeling sorry for me.

We hit the bars around 9pm after watching the game and started taking bombs and shots. We were really getting after it. We were “those guys” at the bar. Around 11pm, we decided to take the trail of debauchery to the bar district downtown. This is where everything fades to black. I remember dancing on a table, maybe a quick stop at a strip club, and a trying to negotiate a massive bar tab, but after that, it’s pretty hazy.

My final memory of the night is talking to and then making out with a woman who was from one of the most remote suburbs in the city and then it was lights out. Nothingness for hours on end. It was a true blackout. Pure, blissful terror.

I remember a splitting headache waking me up. I was in a bed. I was sopping wet from my mid torso, all the way to my toes. I had pissed myself. I wasn’t wearing clothes. I had no idea where my clothes were. The house was completely empty. The drunken recall began to kick in and I remember taking the cab back to that woman’s house way out in the suburbs. Actually, I don’t know if it even qualified as the suburbs.

Here I am, naked, covered in piss or some sort of fluid that smelled like piss, no idea where my clothes are and no sign of this woman that I went home with. Also missing: wallet, phone and keys, which were all in my pants that were missing. Not to mention I was in the throes of probably the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced.

The logic part of my brain wasn’t functioning. Obviously, this woman had put my clothes in the wash and was letting me sleep off my hangover, but since I was completely overridden with hangover anxiety, I panicked and grabbed whichever clothes I could find, which happened to be a robe and a pair of gym shorts that were way too small on me.

I looked around to try and figure out where I was, finally finding a piece of mail with her address on it. Holy shit, I was a good 40 miles from my house. I used her house phone to call a cab and prayed that it would show up before the lady showed up again.

Luckily, it did and I headed back to the city wearing a bathrobe that was about three sizes too small and shorts that were not intended for men to wear. The cab fare was $105 and pretty much bankrupted me right then and there. I had the cab drop me off at my buddy’s apartment to grab some clothes, so I wouldn’t stroll into my parents’ house wearing what I had thrown together.

I was relieved later when the woman messaged me on Facebook and told me that she had all of my clothes, wallet, phone and keys. Apparently she had left that morning to go to the Chiefs game and had thrown my clothes in the dryer, like I should have suspected.

Never again.

A Woman Scorned
“Cass” from Springfield, MA

I’m not a womanizer or a two-timer by any stretch of the imagination, but I got myself into trouble once. I had been kind of, sort of seeing this chick (let’s call her “Heather”) here and there, which is to say that we went out for dinner and drinks one time and had intercourse several times. I am absolutely positive that we were not serious at the time. We never spoke on the phone and texted exclusively from 11pm on Friday night to 3am Sunday morning. She was a hookup buddy and that’s as far as it went for a little over a month.

I was certain we both knew what was going on. We were using each other for sex. Plain and simple. She never even slept over, by choice. It was a nice, hassle-free partnership. One day, that all changed.

So about two months into me and Heather’s purely physical relationship, I met another girl. We’ll call her “Amy.” Amy and I had several mutual friends and we began seeing each other more and more frequently. I knew it was time to call things off with Heather, because it was starting to get serious with Amy.

I planned to break the news to Heather one weekend on a Sunday, but first, I had a date with Amy on Saturday night. It was our fourth date and we hadn’t had sex yet, so it was definitely going down that night. I was sure of it. Sure enough, we hadn’t even finished our salad yet and Amy was already feeling up on my leg and giving me wanting stares, like she was ready to pounce all over me once dinner was done. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

We got back to my place and dashed out of the car, ready to tear into one another. Well, apparently Heather had found out about me and Amy before I got the chance to tell her, and there she was waiting outside of my front door. She walked up to me, slapped me, kicked me right in the seeds and stormed off into the night.

Amy stood there, bewildered at what she had just seen. I was in the ultimate “No wait, I can explain…” scenario. I had never felt the need to tell Amy about my relationship with Heather and I paid dearly for it. Amy refused to go into my house and sat outside to wait for a cab, while I tried my best to explain the situation with Heather. She wasn’t having it.

I eventually explained what happened to Amy and she understood, but she pulled the whole “honesty” card on me and we just remained friends.

Damn you, Heather.

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