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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.
“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.