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We receive submissions each week regarding postgrad hookup horror stories. So naturally, we’re going to handpick the worst of the worst and let you read them. Names have been changed to protect careers and personal lives. Thou shalt not judge lest ye be judged.
If you’ve got a hookup horror story, submit it to Brian@grandex.co with “Humpday Hookups” as the subject, or submit your story using the submission form on our homepage. All stories will be made anonymous. Try to keep it under 500 words.
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Patrick from Austin, TX
This is by far the most embarrassing story I could ever divulge to the public. Thank God you guys make these anonymous, because a story like this could destroy someone’s reputation for decades.
Anyway, me and some buddies had spent a long night out on 6th Street in downtown Austin, and headed back to our apartment complex, very much drunk. We had made it a summer tradition to hang out at our community pool with a few beers after coming home from the bars. We were usually alone at the pool, but this night, there was a lady hanging out there by herself. We sat a few chairs from her and struck up a conversation.
I pegged her to be in her late 30s. She was cute enough, I guess, so me and one of my buddies and I started throwing our best game at her. May the best man win.
We stuck to small talk for the most part, but then she started talking about how her soon-to-be ex-husband abused her and how she had to get away from him. It was a sobering conversation. She was into both of us, we could tell and we were both competing for her affection.
My friend, call him Sam, was moving in for the kill and asked her if she had any hard liquor back at her place. She knew the drill. She grabbed both of our hands and asked us both to “take the party back to her apartment.” Those were her actual words. I’d never heard that before.
So, we get back to her unit and I kinda sensed what was coming. Me and Sam were about to become eskimo brothers in a devil’s threesome. Considering I was mired in a two-month long dry spell and completely shitfaced, I wasn’t in the position to turn down a sure thing.
After a couple shots, she led us into the bedroom. I kept telling myself that it’s not gay in a three-way. It isn’t, right? Either way, we got down to the business of building our Eiffel Tower.
About halfway through, Sam was getting pretty territorial and started hogging all the sex. I got frustrated and tried to butt in, but he pushed me back. I pushed him back and then he wound up and socked me right in the face. I stumbled back into her dresser. Filled with rage and sexual repression, I lunged towards Sam and tackled him to the ground.
It was like ancient Greco-Roman wrestling, rolling around on the floor, completely naked, fighting each other like wild animals over a mate. It was disgusting, but a line had been crossed. I’m not privy to the rules of a guy-girl-guy three-way, but Sam had broken the rules and I was there to defend this future divorcee’s honor.
The fight continued for a couple of minutes until I finally slammed Sam into the wall, knocking her TV off its mount, sending it crashing to the ground. The woman screamed at us and told us to get out, throwing our clothes at us and pushing us out of the door.
We sat in silence in the hallway, completely ashamed of our actions. We silently walked back to our apartment, broken and beaten over perhaps the worst sexual experience in the history of human interaction.
I woke up the next morning and Sam was gone. He had apparently driven back home to San Antonio and I didn’t see him until Sunday night. That night is still not talked about around our apartment. Thank God our lease is up next month.
Never again.
Bruised Ego
Jill from Indianapolis, IN
I was reeling from a tough week at work and it was only Wednesday. I ended up going to a happy hour with some high school friends after work. I had a couple of drinks and decided to call it a night.
I crashed into my bed, determined to sleep off my depression from work and start tomorrow fresh. After a few minutes of not wanting to be alone in my bed, I decided to text a former boyfriend just to see how he was, and long story short, asked him to come over.
His name was Alex and we dated on and off for about six months right after my second year out of college. I lived by myself and had no problem with having male callers come over at a sinful hour.
Anyway, Alex showed up around 11pm and we talked for a bit, then we started making out and found our way into the bedroom, because I am a lady and wasn’t concerned with playing games on this night.
Alex was a passionate, but aggressive lover. I was into it, though. So after some heavy petting, our clothes were off and we were getting after it. Suddenly, Alex leapt up on top of me and began, um, how to put this delicately? He put his D between my T’s? He was really getting after it. It hurt a bit, but I was in such a self-loathing mood, that I let him go on and just enjoyed the moment. After a little while, I told him to stop and he obliged.
We sat in silence after we were done. It was a decent, little romp, but I’d had better. He left after a shared cigarette on my patio and I went to bed.
The next morning, I wore kind of a low cut shirt to work and noticed I was getting odd looks throughout the day. I went to the ladies room before lunch and watched all the color drain out of my body as I looked at my upper chest. Two light, but visible bruises in the vague shape of handprints, courtesy of Alex. I had been walking around the office all day like that.
What had I become?
Respond
I was kind of hoping that Jill would let us know the size of her knockers.
Three’s a crowd.
“Patrick from Austin” I guarantee swords touched that glorious night.
The Devil’s threesome never ends well