Humpday Hookup Horror Stories: Drunk In Love


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.

Torn Apart
“Mike” from Los Angeles, Calif.

I was dating a girl long distance a few summers ago. We met in Dallas and started dating just a few weeks before her job relocated her to the West Coast. I started scrambling to find jobs in Los Angeles, and she moved out there a couple weeks later. We decided we’d do the temporary LDR and make it work until I got a job in L.A. It was a couple of painful months, but I finally landed a job out there and planned a visit to lock down an apartment before making the move.

We hadn’t seen each other in months, so we both knew the first thing we would do once I set foot in L.A. My flight was delayed for three hours out of Dallas (typical) and I landed around midnight. We went back to her apartment, barely able to keep our hands off of each other in the car. We went at each other right after walking in the door. Since it had been months in between romp sessions, I lasted MAYBE two minutes. I prepared myself for another go ’round, but as I leaned in toward her for round two, she started squirming and looked like she was in pain. Concerned about what was happening, I asked what was wrong. She started crying hysterically and complaining about what was going on down below. She turned on the lights and asked me to take a look. I tried to keep my cool after seeing what had happened. Her crotch was swollen and red. Trying my best to stay calm, I recommended that we go to the hospital. Naturally, she freaked out, but I loaded her into her car and we drove off to the nearest hospital.

The doctors took a look at her and came to the conclusion that she had torn her vagina. I got nauseous and had to leave the room–that’s the kind of injury you don’t want to hear about. At all. No thanks. Apparently, if a woman goes a long time without being penetrated (for lack of a better term) the vaginal walls tighten. Sorry for the graphic description, but I seriously have no other way to explain what happened. I’m terrible at metaphors.

The worst was yet to come. The nurse told her she had to go two weeks without sex. I was only in town for three days and wouldn’t be back for another month.

And so my watch began. (Do I get bonus points for the “Game of Thrones” reference?)

Charm City Charmer
“Kara” from Baltimore, Md.

While the general theme of this article is to throw others under the Humpday Horror bus, I have found myself to be “that girl” and deserve to be chastised accordingly. I don’t pride myself on this, but I’ve been told numerous times I’m “one of the guys,” and I generally have the same attitude towards sex as my testosterone-filled counterparts. But this story undoes all of that.

One day this past summer in good ol’ Charm City, at the wise age of 23, I begrudgingly went to some EDM show with old friends, thinking I would merely observe as they made EDM assholes of themselves. Boy, was I wrong. In light of how terrible the music and prepubescent, furry boot-wearing crowd was, I proceeded to get annihilated. Fireball annihilated.

While outside taking a smoke break, I met a seemingly normal gentleman caller who had also been dragged along by his sweet hipster friends. We chatted for a bit, exchanged numbers, and parted ways into the raging, rolling-their-faces-off mass of people. Cue the Fireball.

As the show ended and the ravers filed out into the streets, Fireball and I decided it was completely normal to call my new friend and see where the night was taking him. He answered and we met outside. I then simply walked away from my friends, and like any intelligent girl would do on the streets of Baltimore, hopped into a car with four male strangers bound to God knows where.

We got back to the house, went onto the rooftop porch, and continued drinking wine (my other kryptonite to sanity). I proceeded to argue loudly with one of his douchebag friends about how the Steelers blow. (Sadly, this is an argument I’ve made hundreds of times more loudly and completely sober, but what can I say? I’m a passionate fan.) I was a big hit.

After this battle of wits, my man and I headed off for some privacy, where I told him about my muay thai skills and began putting on a display in his bedroom. I kicked and punched around his room, and somehow, his balls ended up directly in the path of an ill-timed swift kick. He crumpled to the floor as I apologized profusely and vowed to make it up to him. At this point, I expected him to shuttle me out, but we proceeded to have sex because he had already invested too much. At least that’s what I tell myself.

After we did the deed, I cuddled him (something I hate) and probably told him I loved him or something embarrassing like that.

Then, like the sorority girls I’ve mocked time and again while watching my friends toss their suitors out the door like day old milk, I was woken at about 4 a.m. to be taken home because he “had to work early.” On a Sunday. He drove me back to my house and told me he’d call me soon. Shockingly, he never called. Don’t worry. Fireball and I called him a few weeks later. We’ve been together ever since.

Just kidding. I’m probably a joke he tells his friends.

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