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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.
Hair Puller
“Nina” from Chicago, Ill.
I had been dating a guy for about four months when we kind of plateaued in our sex life. We were still having sleepovers and hooking up several times a week, but it had just gotten stale, as it often does as a relationship matures. To spice things up one night, I told him we could do anything he wanted. Him being a nice guy, he asked me what I was comfortable with. I had always kind of, sort of wanted to be submissive. His eyes lit up when I asked him to be more aggressive, and we went at it.
He started playing with my hair and I could tell he wanted to pull it, so I told him to. Expecting some tugging, I relaxed my neck and got ready for it. He started out slowly, but before long, he was pulling my hair back like I was a racehorse. Actually, it was more of a yanking motion than it was pulling. It was not pleasurable–it was painful. I told him to stop and he did. I turned around to him holding a clump of my hair in his hand. It wasn’t a few strands. It was a fucking clump of my hair, like he had reached down into my shower drain and ripped out every last hair.
I had to wear a ponytail the next few weeks to cover up what was sure to be a weird bald spot on my head. Okay, it wasn’t a bald spot, but you could tell that I had some of my hair ripped out. We broke up a few weeks later.
The Older Gentleman
“Jess” from San Francisco, Calif.
Last summer, I dated a guy who is 10 years older than I am. He always spent the night at my place and I didn’t know where he lived until we were several weeks into our relationship. Finally, we spent the night at his house one night after going out to dinner. We were getting into bed and I asked him to put on some music to set the mood. He leaned over to his nightstand and opened up a drawer full of CDs (yep). Then he pulled out a CD player (double yep). I started giggling, and he was asked me why I was laughing. I asked him if he was serious. He was.
So he pops one in and I wait to see what he’s got on this CD that he’s probably been using during hookups since high school. I’m mentally halfway out of the door at this point. The guy I’m hooking up with uses compact fucking discs. The first song was Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.” Appropriate, I thought. I could forget about the fact that he owned a CD player. We began making out as the song played on.
“Let’s Stay Together” ended and I waited for the next song. I was hoping for some Barry White, or maybe some Sinatra. Nope. The unmistakable lead in began: “Girl you workin’ with some ass, yeah. You bad, yeah…”
He had “Back That Azz Up” on his sex playlist. Had I been 19, drunk, and back at the Delt house, I would’ve been all about it. However, when a guy is in his mid-30s and the two of you are still in the courtship phase, it could not have been a bigger turn off. I went from slightly infatuated with him to completely revolted before the chorus. I looked at him like he was crazy. I expected him to start laughing and change the song. Apparently it wasn’t a mistake. I was squirming, and he was confused as to why I was so turned off. I got dressed and left. Never called him again.
You can say I was being dramatic all you want, but when a 35-year-old man has Juvenile on a SEX CD, you cut your losses and move on down the road.
I guess it is time to upgrade from my Sex Cassette Tapes then… This explains a lot
Awfully materialistic of you, Jess.
Are you kidding? The dude keeps it real and you bailed? #HighMaintenance.
Agree. If the 35-year-old guy reads this and would like to respond, I think we’d all appreciate it.
come over to my place ill bust out the 8 track tapes
It clogged my toilet when I tried to flush Nina’s clump of hair.
As a 30 year old myself, keep on being you mid-thirty CD guy. Her loss.
Jess, you live in San Francisco. Take what you can get.
Jess wrangled herself up a typical SF Peter Pan.
mentally halfway out the whore