We receive submissions each week regarding postgrad hookup horror stories. So naturally, we’re going to handpick the worst of the worst and let you read them. The names have been changed to protect the guilty’s career and personal life. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.
If you’ve got a hookup horror story, submit it to Brian@grandex.co with “Humpday Hookups” as the subject, or submit your story using the submission form on our homepage. All submissions will be made anonymous. Try to keep it under 500 words.
Eileen from Nashville, TN
I had been hooking up with some guy, let’s call him James, for a few months. We were at the casual, preemptive “Should I pack an overnight bag?” stage, when you know the answer is always going to be “yes.” It was the ideal setup. I had a sexy, sweet guy that took me to luxurious dinners, paid for whatever I fancied, and all I had to do was put out. No strings, no pressure, just a good time, in every sense of the word “good.”
Meanwhile, I had a long distance boyfriend that maintained my attention during the week, and didn’t mind that I would go missing on the weekends. Easy enough, right? Until one night…
We had decided to go out for a casual dinner and have burgers, which were delicious, but would lead to disaster later. The night went on with a few sessions of foreplay and sex, and before I knew it, I was falling asleep on my familiar side of the bed. I woke up to a gurgling stomach and the undeniable need to pass gas. After carefully observing that he was sound asleep, I let the fart loose as slowly and controlled as possible. Then I realized it wasn’t a fart. It was wet. And messy. And on his sheets. Wow. I’ve never been one to be embarrassed over things. I will be the first to admit when I “rip one” or that girls do, in fact, go number two. But this was a new low. I had NO idea what to do. In a naked frenzy, I jumped out of bed and pretended I needed a tissue. Normal enough, right? Of course I woke him, and confused as to why I was in dire need of a tissue, he remained awake. I came back, pretending that I had a runny nose, and in a tired stupor he kindly asked if everything was alright. Of course I abruptly said, “I’m good, thanks,” as I tried to quickly and slyly wipe up the mini-turd I had left on his sheets, adjacent to his left leg. I quickly threw the tissue off the bed and proceeded to cuddle as if nothing had happened. Later that morning, after I got up and was ready to leave, he still hadn’t noticed. VICTORY!
I went and met some girlfriends for brunch, and on the drive there I realized the severity of this situation: I had just shat in a male suitor’s bed, and I was dating another guy! On the spot, I called my East Coast boyfriend and immediately dumped him. Something about shitting the bed really puts your priorities in perspective. Since then, James and I have been exclusively dating, and I’m expecting a ring shortly. I FINALLY fessed up to my repulsive deed and he laughed it off, only slightly disgusted (I’m sure he bleached his sheets the moment I left). In my opinion, any guy that can put up with that is a man worth keeping.
Nick from Pittsburgh, PA
It was early 2012 and I had just started my “career” in the big city. A few friends (still in school) had come into town on a Friday to get weird. So after telling them how much important real world stuff I had done that week, we began the normal routine of ripping shots until we felt drunk enough to be in public. We grabbed a cab and went straight to the most popular spot in that particular bar district.
It was a pretty normal night as far as getting fucked up and going out goes. We showed up near-blackout, with full intentions of not being able to remember the entire night. It was a good time. Everyone looked my age or close to it, and I even recognized some girls from school. Other than the drink prices, it felt like I had never left college. Drunken bliss.
Being single, I was on the lookout for any drunk girl that was in the mood for a good time. Nothing really materialized until around midnight when I saw her. By that time I had ventured to the dance floor because, well, I was fucked up. Also, I am a phenomenal dancer.
This girl and I started dancing. It was pretty innocent at first as I was getting a feel for her. She stood about 5’2, dark hair, cute little fit body with some tattoos that screamed DTF. I don’t remember her face. The moment it got heated is when the DJ played a slow song (in hindsight it seems weird that he played a slow song given the setting, but whatever.) It was during this slow song that her apparent sexual frustration started coming out. She started grabbing me, thrusting her hips, rubbing her head into my chest, and digging her fingers into my back. I think I even heard a light moan out of her at one point. Weird, but who am I to judge? Game on.
In the next few minutes we moved to the back wall. It was a little darker there and things continued to get a little freakier. Playful, innocent dancing had turned into her attempting to break my dick off. Man, was I proud of myself. My first month out of college and I was about to bag a rando. Or so I thought.
It went on for about another half hour, and eventually we were all but having sex up against this dark wall in the back of this crowded bar. Standard public decency went out the window when she put her hand down my pants. My friends had gone home by now, and after I gave them the keys to my place I told them no one was allowed in my bed, for obvious reasons. As for the girl, she was with a friend, and I had noticed that she was watching the two of us but I didn’t think much of it. She didn’t look pissed or anything, but she certainly wasn’t laughing about it.
It was probably around 1:00am when I suggested we grab a cab and get out of there. We had been making out for about three songs, and I felt it would be rude to make her wait any longer, because I am a gentleman.
She pulled away and in an instant, it was clear to me. I don’t know how, but I knew.
“Ahhhh I shouldn’t be doing this…”
Damn it. She had a boyfriend.
“Let me guess, you have a boyfriend.”
I really wanted this to be true, because, well, you can work around a boyfriend in some cases.
I grabbed her left hand and didn’t see a ring. “Well you’re not married, so what’s the problem?”
The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. She looked up at me with a sheepish grin and reached for something in the back pocket of her jeans. Out of that back pocket she produced a ring. A fucking wedding ring.
I was baffled. The possibility of accidentally messing around with a married chick had never occurred to me. I had just graduated from college where nobody was married, and if a girl had a boyfriend, you probably knew about it because you saw them together at a date party a couple weekends ago. She eventually told me she was 29 years old, which means she was probably 32. That seemed really fucking old to me. I was 22 and fresh out of school. I know what you’re wondering, and she said she didn’t have any kids.
I did not hook up that night. Turns out all she wanted was a little public dirty time but wouldn’t go all the way in her adultery. She said she really wanted to, but her friend wouldn’t let her. Whatever. I grabbed a cab, feeling ashamed, and went home with the worst case of blue balls ever.
Let this be a lesson, fellas. The ring finger doesn’t always tell the whole story.
Submit your Humpday Hookup horror stories to Brian@Grandex.co, or use our submission form on the home page.