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.
It’s Goin’ Down
“Quinn” from Kansas City, MO
I live in a three story building near the Plaza district of KC and have two other roommates. We went out for some refreshments after work and since it was a Wednesday, we decided to get hammered because I don’t need an occasion. My roommate (we’ll call him “Phil”) starts chatting up a table full of girls and invites us over. Phil’s a real ladykiller. So Phil’s working the table and I’m just trying to get as well lubricated as I can before happy hour ends. Phil ends up taking one of the girls home. Classic Phil.
It was a warm night (this was around last May) and we have these big bay windows in our second floor apartment. They open up and make you feel dangerous, but they have a sweet view of the Plaza. If I were to ever call it quits, I’d probably do it from the top of this building–it’s that beautiful.
I went to sleep early because I was tired, but I was jolted awake just a half hour later by the girl Phil brought home. She was screaming in terror. “PHIL! OH, MY GOD, PHIL! ARE YOU OKAY?!” Phil had fallen out of the big bay window and onto the sidewalk down below. Miraculously, he didn’t have a scratch on him and played up the hero bit to perfection, grimacing as he assured the girl that he was alright, loosening up his shoulder and stretching. The guy is a pro.
I don’t know if he finished the job or not that night, but I know he’s been with her since that night.
Aunt Flow Comes For A Visit
“Beth” from St. Paul, MN
It was my first fall of postgrad life and the misconceptions I had formed about working life had all fallen away. I was working at a job I hated and traveling out of state four days a week. Every Thursday when I would come back into town, my roommates and I would go to a local bar, Billies, that had dollar well drinks. We’d get completely tanked. Well, one night, I spotted a young lady I had been attempting to court–let’s call her “Mary.” One thing led to another and we headed to another bar called Nana Funks, which is famous for its sketchiness and the fact that it stays open until 6 a.m. (All the other bars had to close at 2.) We started making out on the dance floor and we were both getting really handsy, so I suggested we head back to my place.
We got back to my place and not even two steps into the door, we were back at it. Thankfully this girl was wearing one of those weird dresses that has a zipper on the front, so it allowed me easy access to the ladies. We made it to my room, half-dressed, and she started dry humping the shit out of my leg. Weird, but I went with it. All of the sudden, the front door opened and we heard her best friend and my roommate walk in and laugh about the trail of clothes to my door. For some reason, this girl’s face went sheet-white and she jumped off the bed. She ran to get her clothes and immediately left. Confused about what just happened, I walked out of my room and my roommate just started dying laughing. He pointed to my leg. It was covered in blood. I immediately took off my pants and started running around the house, freaking out. I was covered in period blood, man.
Well, her best friend, who had come home to hook up with my roommate, took my jeans and cleaned them for me–by hand–because she felt so bad about what had just happened. Of course, the incident got out to all my friends, and for several weeks, they would only refer to me as “Superbad.” Unfortunately for the girl, her name has been turned into a verb for whenever a sure thing with a girl blows up.