Humpday Hookup Horror Stories: Accounts Payable


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. Names have been changed to protect careers and personal lives. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.

If you’ve got a hookup horror story, submit it to with “Humpday Hookups” as the subject, or submit your story using the submission form on our homepage. All stories will be made anonymous. Try to keep it under 500 words.

Accounts Payable
Kim from Knoxville, TN

While my repertoire of postgrad dating absurdities grow by the weekend, this most recent development involved an encounter with someone that I would consider “financially unstable.” I shall refrain from using the man-boy’s name and work affiliations because, well, you will see. Let’s call him Justin.

As the story goes, I met this nearly 30-year-old accountant at a horse race. Naturally, I was looking like a top-notch bitch so I obtained his immediate attention, and dinners followed.

Note: I knew that this particular accounting firm at which Justin worked to be, and I’m paraphrasing from a friend, “where the big dicks from accounting want to swing it.” Also worth noting: he informed me, before our first date, that he was transferring to Dallas so we would just be “getting to know each other.”

I left the “where” decision on dining up to him, and he consistently chose hip, urban restaurants. Impressive. Being generally anxious, I needed some cocktails to refresh my spirit and make me funnier, therefore ensuring another date. No problem, right? He made good money, so we were constantly going out the nicest places in town. The menus at these places didn’t have a drink under $8, so I’ll take a Cranberry-Orange Margarita on the rocks, no salt, and keep ‘em coming.

Typically a few high school type make out sessions followed dinner. (Probably the result of a couple margs. Damn you, tequila!) We went out for a little over a month, about 9 “dates.” I eased up on the drinks, but we went out with my friends to the bars a few times. I am just assuming here, but don’t people normally drink at bars post grad?

To speed up the story, ol’ Justin had a mini-breakdown before he left for Dallas since I “wouldn’t open up.” I’m just not an emotional, “let’s share things” type of girl, and not to mention (11 hour drive) long distance. No thank you.

Fast-forward a month down the road: 1) I had to call and “break up” with him, a guy I wasn’t even in a relationship with, and 2) I shit you not, I received the following pic from Justin:


An Excel spreadsheet breakdown from Justin’s credit card of all our encounters, and specifically, the exact amount that was spent on alcohol. It was a dating invoice.

My retort? “Honey, don’t ask a girl out if you can’t afford it or don’t want to; and by the way, you missed the 12-pack of Michelob Ultra, the cash you bought the drinks with at bars, and money spent on gas.” Bless his heart.

Under The Influence
Will from Omaha, NE

I was out on the town like any other normal weekend when I saw a girl that I knew from high school. Her name was Katie, and we had gone to a dance together and may or may not have played several games of hide the sausage in the backseat of my Honda Accord throughout our senior year of high school.

Back in our high school days, Katie had a little extra poundage on her, but it was okay because she had a great rack and really cute face that I could work with. But since graduating, she had shed at least 15 pounds and was looking damn good on this night.

I went up to her and said hello, and before I could even get my first question out of my mouth, she had leapt into my arms and started kissing me on the cheek over and over. I was in.

We sat at the bar and had a few drinks. Before we knew it, the bar was closing and we were out on the street looking for a cab back to her place, but the streets were empty and there were no cabs to be found. She grabbed me by the hand and took me to her car to drive us back to her place.

Logic should’ve taken over, but that part of my brain was drowning in vodka at this point, and my decision making was certainly on vacation.

So, I hopped into her car and we headed off to her place to engage in what would have been a fantastic, early morning full of nostalgia sex. About halfway home, I suggested we pull over and just cut to the chase in the backseat. She giggled and hiccupped and told me to be patient, placing her hand near my crotch. It was on.

Before I even had a chance to get even a quarter-chub working, bright lights began flashing in her rearview mirror. Oh shit.

It was the cops. I tried telling the cops that the vehicle smelled like booze because I was drunk, but it was no use. They took her outside and began a field sobriety test which she inevitably failed.

They took her to jail and I had to bail her out two hours later with $1,000 dollars out of my savings account. We took a cab back to her place where she sat in my arms and cried until about 8am before finally falling asleep.

Not even a courtesy HJ.

Have a Hookup Horror Story? Send it to All submissions will be made anonymous.

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