Humpday Hookup Horror Stories: No Place Like Home


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.

No Place Like Home
“Bobby” from Chicago, IL

I was back in my hometown of St. Louis a few weeks ago for a family wedding. It was your typical Italian family wedding. Loud, obnoxious and tons of great food and drink. I had my fill of celebration. After the reception, I hit the town to meet up with some friends. A couple of my younger cousins tagged along.

My cousins introduced me to some of their friends at the bar, including two gorgeous girls who went to Illinois. I ended up hitting it off with one of them, and like it always does, one thing led to another. A DFMO here, a shot there, and we were off to the races. Only problem was both of us were staying with our parents and had nowhere to go. I ditched my cousins (because they were adults and could handle themselves) to grab a cab with the hottie from U of I. In my clouded, drunken state, I didn’t care that I was taking this chick back to my parents’ house to hook up with her in my childhood bed. I needed this.

We snuck in without a sound and did the deed without getting made by my parents. Great success. Unfortunately, we both passed out immediately after.

I woke up the next morning and immediately realized what needed to be done. This girl was still in my bed and I could hear my parents rustling around downstairs. I knew I was only gonna get one shot at getting this girl out of the house without being discovered. Luckily my sense of awareness is heightened when I’m hungover. It’s really quite incredible.

Our family’s house is a one-story, ranch-style house, so I could easily sneak her out the window, double back around the house, stick her in a cab and get away with it scot-free.

We waited and waited for the cab and it finally showed up. It even waited at the end of the street like I told it to. I loaded her in the cab, got her number and sent her on her way. Right as I shut the door, that’s when I saw my mother standing out on our lawn with that furious look only a mother could have. I walked up to her and apologized, but the Catholic guilt she put on me over the next three hours made my life a living hell.

That chick still hasn’t called me since. Should I send her a card or something?

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind
“Ian” from Pasadena, CA

I had been in California for a few months trying to become a writer. Typical, I know. That failed, by the way. I make a much better living selling computer software now. I digress.

Since there’s no such thing as a writer who moves to LA and sees instant wealth and success, I had to take a job as a waiter to pay the bills. But thanks to California’s exorbitant taxes and living costs, I found myself struggling to make ends meet, as many do.

I had been working 60-70 hour weeks and was still coming up short most months. I was in a bad spot. Luckily, I had made some friends in “the industry” who were willing to help me out. They told me about porn directors who paid people to use their apartments, houses, whatever to film their scenes in. They call it “staging.” I was told I could make a thousand bucks just for giving up my place for smut filming purposes. I couldn’t say no.

Sure enough, two days later, a check showed up in the mail for $800 dollars with instructions on when to be out of the apartment. I took the money without even thinking and paid off some debt.

They were using my apartment on a Saturday, so I spent the day around the city, being a tourist in my own town, pretending that there wasn’t some 19-year-old runaway getting double teamed on my mattress.

I got back to my apartment later that night after dinner with friends and crashed into my bed. I wasn’t even thinking. Right as my face hit the mattress, there was the most revolting “squish” sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I’d faceplanted right into wet semen.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced panic like that. I ran around my apartment, screaming like I had just had hydrofluoric acid thrown on my face. It was worse than acid. It was some random dude’s knuckle children caked on my face.

To add insult to injury, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep on those sheets. Those sheets also happened to be $250 dollar, high-thread count sheets. They were ruined by rogue splooge.

If I had to do it over again, I’d just let my landlord evict me.

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