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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.
Two-Pump Chump
“Brandi” from Montreal, PQ
I had been seeing this guy every now and then for about a month. We had gone on two dates over the course of a few weeks, and finally the all-important third date went down. He was very nice, but I didn’t really see a future in it. Since I am an adult, I can’t just go hook up with a ton of dudes. I am a lady who requires courting before I have sex with you.
So, we went out to dinner on a Saturday. It was a cute, little Italian restaurant that had little tea candles on the tables and a three-man band playing towards the back of the dining room. He was going all in. I would oblige him with one night in my bed chambers and see where it went from there.
Dinner wrapped up and he dropped me off at my place, where I gave him the old “Wanna come up for coffee?” line. He couldn’t park the car quick enough.
As soon as we were in my apartment, he kept following me around like a little lost puppy, while I made coffee. We started making out and took it to the bedroom. There wasn’t much foreplay. He was an amateur, and obviously putting his needs before mine. I wasn’t going to stop him. I hadn’t had sex in months, so just the thought of it alone had me ready to go.
We got down to business and before I could even get into it, he was done. Yes. He had finished in less than a minute. I was dumbfounded.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked him. “Yeah, so?” That was his actual response. I didn’t want to deal with an argument, so I politely asked him to clothe himself and leave. But he wasn’t going without defending his half-minute “performance.”
He shouted and shouted about how I was a tease and he didn’t really like me that much. Sure, buddy. You popped in less than a minute’s time and you really don’t like me that much. He had barely gotten the condom on in time.
The argument turned even more sour for whatever ridiculous reason came to his head. He had performed like a 14-year-old boy and he was blaming me. He finally stormed out of my bedroom and eventually my apartment, but before finally leaving, he left me with one final parting gift. Smashing my TV remote into smithereens.
I still have to get up to change the channel. Dick.
Well, That Sucks
“Henry” from Chicago, IL
My girlfriend has crabs. Now I have crabs.
Editor’s note: That’s no fun, Hank.
Respond
Courting? Montreal? Brandi? “Bed chambers?” Fucking Canadians.
I thought I was reading Shakespeare at first… “Where art thou?”
They spell it “Canadiens” in Montreal, bro.
Brandi actually seems like a winner though.
I had been seeing this girl every now and then for about a month. We had gone on two dates over the course of a few weeks, and finally the moment I’d been hoping for: the third date. She had told me on the second date she owned four cats. I lied and told her I loved cats, but in addition to hating cats on a matter of principle, I’m actually pretty allergic. I figured there was a 50/50 chance we’d head back to my place (which is damn nice and has a good view) and I’d be able to come up with at least a few bullshit reasons over the next few weeks not to stop by her feline infested apartment. In retrospect, this was a poor decision, but she was better looking than the usual bar bunny I take back to my highrise, so I was all in for at least one night–even if we headed back to her place.
I took her out to a nice dinner, and casually went to the washroom on several occasions to pop a few handfuls of Benadryl tablets. Little did I know how this would react with the three bottles of wine she insisted that we slop through. After she spilled her second glass of wine, I knew I was in, but also that I needed to get her the hell out of here and subconsciously there was no way she would come over to my place, but fuck it, downed another handful of Benadryl.
At her place, she insisted on making the cup of coffee (French Canadians…) even though she could barely stand. It’s also worth noting at this point that she refused to take off her heels (not that drunk, of course), so I followed her around ensuring that her face didn’t greet any hard surfaces. I was pleasantly surprised not to see any goddamn cats throughout this process, and finally, things started to get a bit heated. I figured I didn’t have much time before I exploded into a sneezing and sniffling mess and she didn’t have much time before going severely catatonic. We stumbled into the bedroom door and I spent a second steadying her before opening the door.
Turning the knob, goddammit, my worst nightmare. Her bedroom could only be described as a feline harem. Too late to turn back for the couch. I made an executive decision to go in there like SEAL Team 6 for a surgical strike and hope she didn’t remember the incident. No such luck. As I rolled off, after what could have been no more than 5 minutes of the most boring intercourse ever, her eyes opened with a fire and fury I thought had been sufficiently buried under 3 bottles of Chianti. Then the harpy’s mouth opened and she went off on me, stumbling around in a drunken rage. I was astounded.
I started to really feel the Benadryl start to kick in, said nothing, and suprising even myself, lethargically dodged a TV hurled at my face before gathering my wits just long enough to slide across her bed like Bo Duke to grab my pants and GTFO.
I hope she still has to get up to change the channel, that bitch.
It’s called a razor, Henry. Use it.
http://www.shopinprivate.com/genitrex-lice-crabs-treatment.html
I have never even heard of such a thing. I would be lost without your guidance.
I aim to please
You should aim for the face. Much more gratifying
Lower back.
I’m anxiously awaiting the installment of 5OclockShadow and postgradpres humpday tryst.
Me too
FINALLY, a funny HHHS
Crabs? I didn’t know crabs still existed today…unless you live in France.