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.
“Bennett” from Raleigh, NC
I blacked out and went home with a girl a few weeks ago. I hadn’t previously known her and she didn’t know me. We were total strangers. It was quite irresponsible of me, but at any rate, we did that dance and I had no regrets…until I woke up the next morning.
It was Saturday morning and I woke up in this stranger’s bed. It was terrifying, but there was also a mix of relief that I had just broken a several month-long dry spell. The cost of breaking that dry spell would soon be revealed to me. The sun was peeking through a crack in the blinds and revealed my lover. She was a larger gal, not to say that she was obese or anything, but even by my standards it was apparent that desperation had gotten the best of me.
She would be awake soon, and likely ready for a second go at it. I thought about dealing with another romp with this chick and the benefit of actually remembering the last time I had sex, since I could barely remember what happened after leaving the bar. She woke up, rolled over and I was met with a hideous mess of a woman. I’m no panty dropper myself, but she had taken a fall off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
“Good morning,” she said in a confused, but slightly pleased voice. We talked about what happened at the bar the night before and she started laughing. Normally the sound of a woman softly laughing in the morning would really turn me on, but this chick had a loud, whooping laugh that made my manhood shrivel up and disappear into my abdomen. Any shred of attraction that was left towards this woman was gone. I had to get out.
She started kissing me and she was obviously ready for some more. Her mouth tasted like an ashtray mixed with a moldy bar rag. I couldn’t take much more of it. Thankfully, my stomach began rumbling and the Bud mud was ready to escape my body. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and told her I’d be right back.
I stared myself in the mirror, desperate for a way to get out. Luckily, the answer was stirring in my lower abdomen. I tore my boxers off and unleashed a loud torrent of farts and alcoholic diarrhea into her toilet. Just got really nasty with it. Even threw in a couple of loud grunts for good measure. It was a legitimate shit storm. I even had to flush twice. My Friday diet of three Fiber One bars, three cups of coffee and eight beers had definitely taken a toll on my digestive tract.
She heard everything. I swear I heard her gag several times. Sure enough, when I exited the bathroom, she was gone from the bedroom, so I quickly threw on my clothes, used my taxi app on my phone to hail a cab to her apartment, said my goodbyes and sat on the curb until the cab showed up.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
When The Red River’s Flowing…
“Heidi” from San Diego, CA
I’d had my eye on this one guy for a long time. He was a friend of a friend, and we’d always hit it off, but had never hooked up. One night, it finally happened. A large group of my friends, including “Rob” (that’s his “name”), was out at the bars. We were getting pretty drunk, and I was getting bolder by the second. I decided that I was done waiting around, so I made my move. Lo and behold, he was interested. We took a taxi back to his place, and had sex not once, not twice, but five times that night. Obviously, that’s not where the “horror” part of this hookup occurs, but I thought it was worth noting.
The horror of this story occurred the following weekend. He wanted to hook up again, but unfortunately it was that time of the month. I guess I underestimated this guy’s desire to have sex though, because he was still totally down, even though I fully explained the literal bloodbath that could potentially occur. So, we had sex and everything was fine. The next morning, when we decided to have sex again. Things were going great. Until it was over.
I looked down at his pale taupe sheets, and I swear to God, it looked like a crime scene. There was blood EVERYWHERE, as in splattered all over the sheets. Not just one spot. I’m talking full-on, looks-like-somebody-got-stabbed-57-times-and-then-fell-on-top-of-the bed-for-good-measure, blood. Obviously, I was horrified. I immediately grabbed him and pulled him away and told him he just had to leave. He clearly knew what had happened, but I was too ashamed to let him see the horrific scene. He ended up waiting patiently while I tried to spot clean his bed, which clearly didn’t work, as those damn sheets looked like the aftermath of the Battle of Gettysburg. I ended up having to completely strip the sheets and run them through the laundry, all while he sat there, slightly horrified and slightly amused at the same time. I was mortified. On the bright side, he didn’t completely dump me after that, but it’s safe to say that we avoided having sex during that magical time from there on out. Horrifying.