Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase three heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
This one started off as typically as can be. Night out at one of DC's crowded, shitshow bars. While ordering drinks I strike up conversation with a good looking chick next to me who I'll call Sarah. I end up getting her number and head out to explore the rest of the bar. Being the classy (and drunk) gentleman that I am, I text her to come to the dance floor. This surprisingly works and Sarah joins me for the obligatory ass-to-crotch grind to whatever Usher song is playing.
After a while she's starting to go for the dance floor makeout, so I take that as my cue to try to make an extraction move. I suggest we get out of the bar and hangout at my place. After the typical hemming and hawing she clears it with her gang of harpies who had accompanied her and we're off. While walking she makes it outstandingly clear that she needs to be back at her place by 3:30am. I don't argue and somehow manage to work it out that she just takes me to her place so everyone wins. In the cab ride to her house it comes out that she really needs to be home so she can watch the Rugby World Cup semifinals between Australia and the New Zealand All Blacks. Who knew that a single person in the US gave a flying fuck.
So we're at her place, I have a beer in hand, I'm on her bed, the TV's on and the game starts. My frustration in not being able to figure out rugby in 30 seconds gives way to tit-related single mindedness. While her shirt is off and she's intermittently making out with me, she tells me I have to wait until the game's over. Knowing nothing about rugby, I imagine a worst case scenario that it's like cricket, which can last fucking months if I remember my facts. So I start running my mouth and asking loads of questions. Not sure how I thought this would help. "Why are they called the All Blacks? I don't see a single black guy." "How do they come up with a score of 5 to 3? Nothing's happened yet." "Is this over yet?" "Are there any Americans playing?" "Are we the only ones watching this?"
It was like someone flipped a switch. She starts FREAKING out on me. Yelling at me that I don't respect "the most athletic competitive sport in the world" and some shit about her Dad being a rugby coach. She starts throwing my clothes at me, throwing water at me, yelling at me to leave. I am more confused than anything, because I thought I was being charming. The last straw: "Sarah can I borrow 10$ for a cab?" "Fuck you I am calling the police!"
I'm pretty sure the cops would agree rugby sucks too.
My wife is smoking hot. She's sweet and sexy and smart and I am a very lucky man.
So it's Saturday afternoon. We're doing housework and trying to figure out what to do for dinner, and I decide BOOM, at-home Mexican night. I go to the store and get ingredients for shrimp quesadillas with crema fresca and chips with homemade pico de gallo. First things first, though: margaritas. We get to drinking and cooking and eating. I don't want to brag, but the pico especially was out of this world. A little heavy on the jalapeno, but still delicious.
After eating, me and the little lady are both drunk and horny. Sexy time begins and I start going down on her. After a little while, she says "Ooh, can you still feel the jalapeno?"
"I can too...down there. It feels a little tingly."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, I'm really turned on."
So I keep going and eventually finish her off. I move upstairs for my turn, and then:
"Are you all right?"
"My vagina feels like it's on fire!"
Cut to her sitting in the bathtub splashing water furiously on her gash, and me googling (on my work computer no less) "jalapeno vagina." Not only did I not get any that night, but I'm pretty sure I will have to give some long explanation to HR pretty soon.
Just give her vagina some beer. STARCH IS THE KEY.
I met this girl named Kim on the day I moved into the dorms my freshman year. I wanted her right away. She was smart, funny, sexy...and still with her high school boyfriend, who was attending the same college. Not to be deterred, I made my intentions known, and while Kim would not have it, we still hung out a lot as friends, with plenty of flirting. Things went on like this for a while.
Fast forward to January. I hadn't seen Kim over winter break, as we were from different states, and when we saw each other again, something was different. I was starting to get the "fuck me eyes" that can make you hard in a second. So one Friday night, she and I decide to buy a bottle of vodka and drink it in my dorm room, then go to a party. As we're drinking in my room, she tells me that she is "kind of on a break" from her boyfriend. Not really caring what "kind of" means, I figure that it's on. We polished off the bottle, then went to the party. Once there, we instantly start grinding, and she whispers in my ear, asking me if I want to fuck. Um...YES. We decide to leave. I'm tanked. She's tanked. It's five below outside. What should have been a fifteen-minute walk to campus turned into an hour-long walk, since we were both too drunk to figure out how to get there. I had given her my coat, so I was fucking cold. I mean really cold.
Somehow, we made it back to her dorm room, and she still wants to get busy. Cool. She gets on top of me, and pretty soon I'm suckin' tit. Finally. It was great. Except for one thing. My dick felt ice cold. My little guy in the bush was shell-shocked from the cold walk, and just wouldn't rise to attention. I tried explaining this to Kim, but she was not happy, and went to sleep. I left early in the AM to avoid any embarrassment. A few days passed, and I heard two pieces of bad news. First, Kim was back with her boyfriend. Second, she had told her roommate that she thought I might be gay. Ouch. All because no one invented a dick-sleeve.