“My Pussy Is Like Steel!” And Other Things You Hear During Sex

Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase four heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.

Ben:

So after we had our fill of smoking we got down to business. Things progressed nicely, first the shirts, then the pants, I knew nothing was going to stop this. Needless to say we started to bump uglies and it was a blast… but when I drink and smoke it can take a really long time to finish. So after almost an hour, I was getting tired and while I was doing her from behind, I calmly explained that I don't know how much longer this will last and asked if she will be ok? Her response is one that I will never forget.

"Don't worry about me, my pussy is like steel!"

I don't know why but that was the funniest line I ever heard. I couldn't stop laughing at her and even fell off the bed laughing. Needless to say the session was over and I was asked to leave. To make things EVEN WORSE, I found out that she was a virgin. And now her first time was completely scarring for her because I laughed at her and we didn't finish. Unfortunately I was not really welcomed at that sorority anymore and the girl had to go to therapy to get over her new found fear of most metal objects, mainly steel.

A steel pussy never tarnishes.

"My pussy is like steel." I feel Grace Jones has said that line at least once in her life.

Alex:

I was a freshman at B.U and I went to an M.I.T brownstone for a frat party. End of the night, I start chatting up an Indian girl. We start hooking up in the frat, the frat closes up shop, and we decide to continue the session on the other side of the frat in a nearby alley. As things progress, I start fingering her in the alley; she started moaning very loudly. Alley fingering moves to awkward BJ under a stairwell behind the frat. As time goes on, we are surrounded by 5 cop cars. Remember that loud moaning? Apparently some neighbor interpreted it as rape. Despite my explanations, I was taken to a police station and stripped naked for a rape kit. I was then transferred to a holding cell in South Boston. At about 6 a.m, a public defender came and talked to me and I explained in that there was a huge misunderstanding that this girl apparently didn't think was needed to be rectified (or more likely the cops just ignored her as a stupid drunk girl). The P.D assures me she will take care of it.

At about 8:30 A.M, everyone who was picked up overnight was to go see a judge. This is the scariest part. They put me in a hallway in the jail where all the real rapists and murders and robbers who got picked up that night waited to see the judge. While waiting for the judge, one of the guys asked me why I was in line. Not remembering what every fucking T.V show and movie has taught me for 19 years, I said it was for a rape I didn't commit. The bells in the inmates heads went off and all 20 or so people in line started threatening me and screaming at me. If I wasn't in the front of the line, and the judge didn't immediately release me when I got in front of her, Schillinger would have shat in my mouth, I am convinced of this.

I saw the girl at a party about 3 months later. When I naturally said "WTF!!!" she simply responded, "I was way drunk, sorry about all that."

Rachel:

This guy (let's call him Brandon, for all I know that might actually be his name) and a group of other guys said they were headed back to his house to smoke some hash, I tagged along. Things are a little fuzzy from here on, but I think we all piled into G's minivan and drove over to Brandon's.

We spent the ride over making out like 8th graders in the back seat, so by the time we're at his place, I'm ready to jump his dumb but exceedingly pretty bones. After a couple of hits of hash, we leave the rest of the party, and head back to Brandon's room. At this point, I should add, it is mid August in Maryland, and his place has no AC. So, as soon as we're stripped off and laying down, we're both covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It's suffocating, sauna-like, almost unbearable.

But there's Brandon, and his nice abs and cute grin and fuck it, I'm determined to enjoy myself for at least part of this otherwise dull night. We skip straight to the fun part, and no sooner have we got a good rhythm going then the door flies open and this kid Stevie bursts in and sprays the room with…something…and runs off. At first, for a second, we laugh it off, assuming it was air freshener or hair spray, but it very quickly dawns on us as we start to choke and cough that Stevie had in fact loosed a fucking fire extinguisher all over the room and our sticky naked bodies.

Now, if you've never had close-range exposure to a home first extinguisher, let me tell you, it is one of the most unpleasant things that can happen to you while naked. The powder gets everywhere. It settles in your hair, in every crack and cranny and crevice of your skin, and clings to your eyelash and your nose hairs, and even finds its way into your lungs. About three seconds after realize this, we stumble, coughing and cursing, out into the hall after Stevie. I can barely draw breath, but apparently Brandon was feeling better, as he chased Stevie (still naked) out of the house, and apparently half-way to the next town. That had kind of killed the mood, and I didn't feel like waiting for him to come back, so I grabbed a towel and my cigarettes and G and we hightailed it back to his house, laughing pretty much the whole way. I went back to my college the next morning and never saw either of them again, but from what I've heard from G, Stevie was so scared he walked the 5 miles back to his own house that night, and Brandon still tells the story of the "fire extinguisher girl".

Walk tall, Fire Extignusher girl. You done good.

MBG:

The summer before sophomore year in college, I had gone to Key West with some family members on vacation. There is a popular bar there called Irish Kevin's where their specialty drink is called a Green Alligator, which involves lots of rum, 151 and a bunch of other green shit. Really messes you up.

Fast forward to St Patrick's Day of the next year where myself and roommates decided to throw a party and make these Green Alligators. We end up butchering them by making them deathly strong and we all proceed to get trashed. People start to file into the party where we are already plastered, and in comes this girl we will call Lauren (because that's her actual name) that seemed to have a thing for me and whom I was more than willing to have sex with. She's not at the party for more than 45 minutes and we make it back to my room (mind you it's still daylight outside). I lay down on my bed and she starts to straddle me, staring into my eyes. She starts to inch her way up my stomach nearing my chest when, blam! The floodgates of green vile were opened. It looked like I had thrown up a lawn mower clipping smoothie. I managed to direct my spray away from her but my bed was against a wall, and so the wall decided to deflect most of the puke back onto her anyways. She kind of yips (yes, yips) and runs out into the bathroom with green leftovers all over her left side. She cleans up, and comes back in to my room. She comes in to find me passed out, head hanging off the bed, with vomit on my wall. Needless to say, no luck was with me on that St Patty's Day.

I liked the part where he booted.