I once had a friend named Mark (not his real name) who was trying to have sex with a girl while he was blind drunk. He did not end up succeeding. Here is the short story of why.
As they were hooking up in his dorm room, Mark and this girl mutually agreed to move on to intercourse. It's always a thrilling moment when you propose the idea of intercourse to a girl in the middle of a hookup and she agrees. Really? You want to move on to sex? Are you sure? NICE! I was totally hoping you'd be cool with it!
So Mark began the task of working up a boner and slipping it into the dock, but he just couldn't negotiate the entry.
"You're too dry," he told her. "We need lube."
Mark looked around. There was no lube readily available to him. No KY warming lotion. No Astroglide. No nothing. The only thing he saw in his immediate vicinity was the small plastic bathroom caddy he took to the shower every morning. Inside was a bottle of Head and Shoulders. Acting on drunken impulse, he grabbed the bottle out of the caddy and squirted a generous –- VERY GENEROUS -– blue glop of the shampoo directly onto the girl's biscuit. It took exactly .000002 seconds for the poor gal to cry out in stinging pain, smack Mark on the head, grab her clothes and bolt right out the door. He had blown his chance with this girl, and he never got another crack at her. Rightfully so, of course.
I'm not particularly interested in stories of male sexual conquest ("Long story short, I ROOTED HER GOOD!"). I'm far more interested in the opposite kind of story: the blown, drunken hookup. That's the kind of story that I identify with, because I blew so many hookups over the course of my youth, not unlike Andy Reid trying to manage the clock at the end of a football game. I've been unable to get an erection. I've accidentally locked myself out of my dorm room as I was bringing a lady home. I've asked girls in college out on formal DATES. No one's dumb enough to do that, but I did. I've said the exact wrong thing at the wrong time. I've thrown up. I've farted mid-hookup. I've been unable to convince roommates to leave, and unable to convince the girl that having a roommate around wouldn't make it weird for her. I've been unable to stop belching during makeout sessions. I've had the answering machine go off mid-intercourse, with a parent leaving a seemingly interminable message, destroying all hope of erection maintenance. I've taken a girl home to watch a movie (and thus hook up), put in Dead Man Walking, and then seen the girl become too sad to hook up.
One time, I hooked up with a girl at a party in college on Halloween. I expected to be able to take her home. Instead, she went home with another guy who was wearing a Smurf costume. I was ditched for a fucking Smurf.
My life is a shambles of drunken hookup failure. I haven't dumped shampoo on anyone's cooch, but still. Blowing a hookup is one of the worst things that can happen to man, and I'd like to be able to offer you some semblance of closure to the most glaring sexual failures from your personal history.
That's right. It's a new series: GREAT MOMENTS IN DRUNKEN HOOKUP FAILURE. Send me any failed hookup story you want. If it's good, I'll toss it here every Friday. And if you've never experienced hookup failure in your life, then go fuck off to Tucker Max's message board.