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.
“Jeff” from San Jose, California
I joined the military right out of college. For me, that meant officer candidate school, a fourteen-week hellhole of suffering mixed with education, and all the other niceties of joining the military. It was normally a twelve-week program, But two weeks in, I had the privilege of being there for the Christmas stand down, where I shoveled snow and stood watch for two extra weeks. During the stand down, we got our cell phones back, and my girlfriend of a year broke up with me via text message the day before they took our phones away. Not ideal. Instead of getting drunk and getting under some new girl to get over the old one, I shoveled more snow. I got a pack of smuggled gummy bears and a “sorry” from my buddies in the unit. Then it was back to pushups and screaming.
Fast-forward to three months later, and it was graduation night. My whole family came, minus my ex, which had been hard to explain to my mom via letters. One of my best friends from back home and his family even made the trip. My buddies, new and old, were ready to throw down. We hit the town where my OCS was located. It’s actually a bit of a party town, and this was a holiday weekend. The streets and bars were packed with revelers. I was free for the first time in months. At one point in the night, I bought 200 shots of Fireball. It was that kind of night.
It had been a while since I’d had a drink, so my tolerance was decidedly low. Things start to get hazy, and I was at that stage of drunk where I was still functioning to outsiders, but was starting to lose my ability to have a whole lot of higher thinking. But who cared? I found a good-looking local girl with some friends and a low cut top and fed her some line about servicing a serviceman. (No shame in my game.) We were grinding and making out on the dance floor, and I had that “I’m in!” eureka moment, and focused on having a good time before this girl and I decided to head back to my hotel and break my government-enforced cold streak.
The night went on, and there was a lot of high-fiving and celebrating with my buddies, more making out with this girl, and a lot more drinking. I was sufficiently stewed. I took one last trip to the bathroom before we headed out. It’s at this point in the story I should mention that not all my friends’ girlfriends had been as shitty as mine, so two of the girls in our group were girlfriends of my buddies. One of them is a really nice girl, but she has a definite jealous streak. We’ll call her boyfriend “King James” for the point of this story.
I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, my friends were on one side of the bar, and my new female friend and her friends were on the other side. Several of the girls were staring daggers at King James’s girlfriend. Through my drunken haze, I realized something bad had happened. I went up to my lady friend and asked her what was up, but she would barely talk to me. She said, “Why don’t you ask her?” and pointed at King James’s girlfriend. Then she turned around. I was no longer “in,” and to make matters worse, it was closing time, so i had no chance to recover and find a new girl.
I looked over at a different friend of mine, who we’ll call Reese for the sake of the story. Reese was giving me a look of laughter combined with sympathy. I asked him what the hell had happened. Apparently, while I was in the bathroom, one of my lady friend’s larger female pals had made a very aggressive move on King James. This move included a crotch fondling. King James was not exactly sober, but he is no chubby chaser, so I have no doubt in my mind that he was not interested. His girlfriend however, was apparently less confident. In the thirty seconds I was in the bathroom, I missed her storm across the bar screaming, “Stay away from my man!” while she shoved this fat girl to the ground. Apparently some of the guys had to pull her off of Shamu.
At this point, I did what any responsible guy would do. I bought several more rounds for Reese and me and we headed back to his house. (His father was a very senior officer who lived in the area.) So instead of spending my first night of single freedom in the arms of a woman, i spent it yakking in a senior officer’s back yard and sleeping on a couch in his basement. The joys of serving our country.
“Ben” from Atlanta, Georgia
I know this isn’t postgrad, but this story is worth telling. Flash back to my freshman year of college at a large state school in the South. I lived in a large dorm with hundreds of other freshmen — among them a girl, who we’ll call “Lucky.” Lucky was a dime. I’m talking 10/10, would pee. (Which in retrospect may have been an issue.) She was gorgeous, sexy, and to top it all off, she was actually pretty cool, too. She’s still in my top three today. Unfortunately, she had been dating the same guy all of high school. (I knew her and her boyfriend vaguely from our hometown, but not well enough to violate any friend rules.) Because it’s freshman year, they of course break up toward the end. I didn’t know this at the time.
I saw her out one night at the local freshman bar in our college town. It must have been a relatively off night, either a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, because there weren’t a lot of people in the bar. My buddy and I pulled up seats next to her and her friends and we struck up a friendly conversation. About five minutes in, Lucky lets it slip that she is recently single. Now, I’m no Tom Brady, but I know a chance to put one in the end zone when I see it. It was on. My drink budget for the night suddenly became unlimited. I was like Oprah: You get a drink! And you get a drink! I knew I had one shot and I was going to take it. Girls like Lucky don’t stay single for long.
As the night wore on, we were both getting pretty lit. I vaguely remember some dancing, complete with that douchey The Notebook-level forehead touching and eye contact that I would normally not do in public. But for Lucky, I would have tried just about everything in the playbook, so what’s a little public embarrassment? Around 1 a.m., we decide it’s time for us to go back to walk back to our dorm, and late-night in my room. I was in! Various versions of “We Are The Champions” were playing in my head. we headed out of the bar and I felt like General MacArthur walking up the beach in the Philippines back in 1944. There was just one problem.
Because Lucky was such a dime, and I was such a dumb freshman, I had spent the whole night making sure I was the only guy who hit on her. That meant not leaving her alone. Which meant I hadn’t had time to make any trips to the bathroom. In several hours. Combine that with all of the aforementioned drinking and the three quarters of a mile walk back to the dorm, and I had to piss. Badly. So there I was, walking back with the hottest girl I had ever seen, and trying to be cool while I used all my inner strength to try and hold it. You can probably guess where this is going.
The police in our college town were strict, and getting caught pissing in public was a big no-no, but I could wait no longer. I told Lucky to keep walking, and ducked behind a campus building to answer the call. In what I still consider to be the greatest miscalculation of my life, I did not fully extract my dick from my pants. I made it outside my boxers, but not outside my jeans. The result was a lot of piss in my pants, and panic in my head. What the fuck was I going to do now? I couldn’t very well walk back up to lucky and act natural now that i was all soaked in piss. The amount of despair I felt at that moment has not been equaled in the entire span of human existence. I eventually decided I would let Lucky finish the walk to the dorms by herself (we were only a few hundred yards from the door at that point) and then I would walk in later.
Not only did I fail that night, but I had to walk past the security guard and the night RA with pissed pants, which I’m sure they enjoyed. I texted her the next day and made up some lame excuse, and Lucky was nice about it, but I’m sure she was weirded out. About two weeks later, she started dating the guy she’s still dating now. She’ll probably marry him. Moral of the story: Always take a bathroom break, and always pay for the cab. Why the hell would I spend so much on drinks, and then not pay for the super cheap flat-rate cab? Fucking Freshman..