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Homecoming Hookup Horror Story
“Kyle” from Chicago, IL
Early last month, I attended my alma mater’s homecoming celebration in Iowa City, Iowa (Go Hawkeyes). It would be my second homecoming since graduation. The first homecoming I went to after graduation was incredibly lame. Depressing almost. I got a cheap hotel room with some friends and we actually just ended up sitting in the hotel room after the homecoming game, watching ESPN and not going to the bars, mainly because we couldn’t get a cab downtown and our hotel was a good six miles away. Needless to say, we were really looking forward to redemption at this year’s homecoming celebration.
We decided to pull off the dreaded three-day homecoming experience. I miraculously got the Friday before homecoming weekend off, and packed up my car for the weekend. I actually got lucky and wouldn’t even have to pay for a hotel. Beautiful.
I’ll cut to the chase, I met a sophomore girl on Thursday night, we hooked up and that was that. I gave her my number as a courtesy and let her know that I’d be in town for the rest of the weekend via text the next morning. It took every bit of my self control not to include a “you know what I mean” winky face emoticon in the text.
So Friday, I’m drunk again and she’s drunk again and I get a text around midnight from her asking where I’m at. We hook up again. This time in my car outside of where I was staying. No shame. After we were done, I walked her back to her house and let her know what I was doing for tailgate the next day. She said she’d stop by. Boy, would she ever.
The game started at 11am, so it was one of those “Wake up at 7am, start pounding screwdrivers and don’t stop until kickoff” kind of mornings. Things got sloppy really quickly. I took it relatively easy, though. I hadn’t been to a football game all year and wanted to enjoy it like a normal, responsible adult that was currently in the midst of a 72-hour bender in his college town. Shortly after arriving at my tailgate, lo and behold, I get a text from this chick. She’s coming by the tailgate. Naturally, I invited her on over. She was cool enough when we were getting nasty, so I figured she couldn’t be much worse sober.
I was wrong. This broad comes storming through the rows of cars, shouting my name at the top of her lungs like a drunken hurricane. She was a mess. The type of mess that had obviously kept drinking after our late night suareé. So here she is, in the middle of our tailgate, way drunker than anyone else. She was out of control, as were her friends. One was just dead behind the eyes. I had no idea how she was standing. The other friend was introducing herself to everyone like a blacked out mayor’s wife. They were ruining our tailgate. It wasn’t even 9am yet and they had obviously had way too much to drink.
I pulled the girl aside and told her to get it together. Of course, this didn’t land well and she started crying. Her other friend started crying too and then the third one just started laughing at both of them. It was a chain reaction most commonly seen in preschools. Friend #2 started getting sick in between one of the cars and disappeared shortly after. Friend #3 was sobbing in the truck bed, sipping on a Natty that she refused to let go of. I took it upon myself to get these girls back to their apartment, so I loaded them into my buddy’s truck and took them back to the other side of campus for them to pass out.
We got back to their house and they would not pass out. So I basically had to run them around like puppies to wear them out enough to where they would pass out. An hour later, they were passed out. I got back into the truck and headed back to the stadium. I sat in traffic for another hour and then finally got into the game just as the second quarter started.
“Monica” from Huntington Beach, CA
I met this guy at a UFC fight about a year ago. I’m not a “UFC chick” or whatever. In fact, I think the whole thing is barbaric and latently homosexual, but what do I know? I’m only a psychology major. Regardless, I went at the behest of one of my good guy friends and had a decent enough time. We spent some time after the fight at a bar near the arena and I met a guy there and we ended up going home together.
He wasn’t your typical Affliction-clad, bedazzled Tapout t-shirt wearing, UFC meathead. He was really sweet and was at the fight on business. But he still loved UFC. So we came back to my apartment, shared a bottle of wine and got down to the no-pants dance. This is where it got weird.
So he’s really getting after it. I had to tell him a few times to slow down. He was still going at it with tremendous vigor and I was not enjoying myself at all. I have a mantle above my bed with a very nice vase on top of it and several other arrangements that a woman might have in her boudoir, and I could sense that my headboard banging against the wall was sure to shake something loose. I told him to slow down yet again, except it must have been opposite day in his mind, because he went faster and faster.
I finally pushed him up off of me and looked him in the eye and said very clearly “Please, slow down.” He obliged temporarily, but just a minute later, he was whaling away on my lady business. I had enough. Time for you to go, dude. But right before I could push him back up off of me, the large, heavy vase on my mantle fell right onto the back of his head with a resounding “CLANG.” He collapsed on top of me and remained in my bed, knocked out for several minutes. I would’ve panicked, but this guy was such a shitty love maker that I was relieved.
When he came to, I called a cab, slapped an ice pack in his hand and sent him on his way. Nice knowing ya.