Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase three heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
Last year was my Sophomore at Auburn and we were finishing up probably the greatest football season we'll ever see here. Me and a few friends had gone to Atlanta to attend the SEC championship game and since it was only two hours away and we had no where to crash we drove back to campus to look for a party to crash. I managed to get a hold of a girl I had been kinda talking to named Megan, mostly casual flirting but really nothing else, and she invited us to a kegger.
When we arrived at the party me and my buddies were already pretty hammered because we had started taking swigs of a handle rum and smoked a blunt long before hitting the Georgia-Alabama border. I find Megan and my friends find the keg. We start hitting it off talking about school, friends, and other shit. We start getting closer and after a couple cups from the keg I'm ready to make my move. Then things go sour, I casually mention the game and this immediately causes her to talk non-stop about Cam Newton, how great he is and how she had a class with him in the spring and got his phone number. I was just starting to lose interest in her when all of the sudden a fight breaks out between my friends and a couple of frat douches. Me and my friends are promptly kicked out of the party, though I manage to run back in to try to find Megan for one last shot at it, but she was nowhere to be found.
We went home and I immediately hit the sack, or so I thought. The next morning I checked my phone and saw that I had texted Megan 5 times, the longest one reading "YOU BITCH YOU TOTALLY DITCHED ME TO GO FUCK CAM NEWTON YOU CLEAT CHASING SLUT, I HOPE HE GETS YOU PREGNANT AND ALL YOUR KIDS GO TO JAIL FOR STEALING EVERY LAP TOP IN AMERICA YOU SLUT! TAKE THE MONEY AND FUCKING RUN!" I texted her back with an apology, she never responded. To this day I still see her around campus, we never speak though the awkwardness is too much, plus I'm pretty sure she fucked Cam Newton.
You college boys: Never stop charming us!
In June 1998, I was a scrawny 17-year-old approaching the end of my high school career. On the last day of classes, my buddy Mike informed me that our mutual acquaintance Jenny was having a graduation party at her house, and I should meet him there. I went home, slapped on some Brut - seriously, I used to wear that shit religiously - and headed over in my dad's Lincoln Town Car, ready for action.
Jenny's party catered almost exclusively to the dirtbag set - white D-students whose only extra-curricular activity was weed. Her parents were gone that week, but oddly enough there were a few adults present. In a corner of the garage, minding the keg, stood a trio of dudes in their late 30s who I came to understand were Jenny's uncle and two of his friends. Yep, just a crew of grown men enjoying the vibe at a high-school party. Alright, alright, alright. One of the uncle's friends was short and well muscled with thinning blonde hair, and there was a meanness to his eyes that made me notice him right away. I never got his name, but for the purposes of this story we'll call him Brandon.
Since I didn't know too many people at the party outside of Mike and Jenny, my plan was to get buzzed on beer and circulate around the house, throwing vibe at every cute girl until one of them made out with me. It didn't go well. My attempts at flirtation were met with polite refusals for the most part, and one chick actually told me I was being "creepy," to my face. I was tempted to go home after that. But then, somehow, I found myself in a bedroom with a girl named Angie.
I knew Angie, sort of. For a while, she had dated the bassist in a band I used to play with, but he wasn't at the party, and we'd had a minor falling out recently, so it was game-on as far as I was concerned. Angie was tall and blonde and pretty, and very obviously drunk. I don't remember what we talked about, but it was the first actual conversation I'd ever had with her, and before long we had our tongues in each other's mouths.
The thing is, there were a half-dozen other people in this bedroom with us, and if things were going to go any further between Angie and I, it was clear that we'd have to go somewhere private. My dad's Town Car was a big boat with comfortable leather seats, wide enough in the back for a girl to lay out lengthwise without feeling too cramped. I suggested that we chill there for a while. She liked that idea. We chugged the rest of our beers and split, walking halfway down the block to where I'd parked.
At first, the makeout/groping session exceeded all expectations. She took her shirt off. We made out some more. She took all her clothes off, even her socks. There she was, bare-pussy naked in the backseat of my dad's car. I hurried to catch up with her state of undress, and wound up awkwardly straddling her in my boxers.
"Do you have a condom?" she asked me.
"No," I said. I knew the question was coming, and I'd been dreading it for the last 10 minutes. It simply didn't occur to me that I would be fucking that night, when I left my house. And I figured that would be the end of that. She'd put her clothes back on and return to the party. No harm done.
"Uh. Okay," she said, and spread her legs. Angie was seriously just asking me about the condom out of curiosity. Oh my God, I was going to have unprotected sex for the first time in my life. I was terrified of the repercussions - pregnancy? whatever STDs she picked up from my former bass-player? - but I was also desperate to be with this girl. Due to a series of poor decisions and some mid-level social awkwardness, I hadn't had sex in over a year. If you're fortunate enough to be given sex when you're 15-16 years old, as I was, and then that privilege is taken from you for an extended period of time, it tends to screw with your judgment. So, as a compromise to myself, I decided to go down on Angie for a bit while I worked up the nerve to do what had to be done.
But I would not get the chance. A loud, violent banging snapped us out of our "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" recreation. It was Brandon, hammer-fisting the passenger-side window right above Angie's head with obvious bad intentions. The crazy son-of-a-bitch had followed us from the party.
"Get dressed, and get out of the car," he said, his face an inch from the glass.
I lifted my face out of Angie's crotch and froze for a moment, deep in thought. Was there a way to smooth the situation out, avoid an ass-kicking, and still have sex with Angie? I did not have the answer to these riddles. I put my shirt on for decency's sake, but didn't bother with the pants. I had no intention of leaving the car. Angie dressed quickly, got out without looking at me, and closed the door behind her. Brandon yanked it open again and leaned inside. Well, this was it. Time to get the shit beaten out of me.
"She's drunk," he shouted at me, "and you're an asshole!" With that, he slammed the door shut again and escorted Angie back to Jenny's house, pretty much against her will. What a gentleman. I could hear her voice as she walked away, telling Brandon "I'm fine, okay? I'm fine." I just sat there, in the backseat of a car that had a warm, naked girl in it just five minutes before, feeling like the weakest, most cock-blocked motherfucker on earth.
I never spoke to Angie again.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of taking out —on my first OKCupid inspired date, no less—this really cute half-Indian girl who we'll call Maria (not her real name, if you couldn't tell). After a few drinks at one bar and then a few more at another, she asks if I want to go back to her friends' place where she was staying to smoke some weed. I figure this pretty much means boning or at least hooking up in some form, so I agree, and we walk over to her friends apartment.
When we get there, rather than pulling out a bowl or a joint or anything like that, she pulls out something called a steamroller. For the uninitiated, this thing is like a glass tube about a foot long and two inches thick, and it pretty much shoots weed smoke directly down your throat. I smoked a decent amount in college, but I no matter how much I smoked I never really developed a tolerance for weed, so I was a little nervous looking at this thing. She packed it pretty huge and took a monster rip, so when it was my turn I figured that 1. I didn't want to get upstaged and look like a bitch in front of her, and 2. I would only need to take one, hit, and how bad could it be?
As it turns out, I'm quite the pussy. Having never used one of these before, I totally misjudged how hard I would need to pull and took a huge hit. I immediately started coughing and hacking nastily. I ran outside and managed to catch my breath, and Maria joined me to smoke a cigarette. While she smoked and talked about God-knows-what, I spent literally all of my mental energy trying not to completely bug out and pay attention to what she was talking about. Amazingly I managed to do so for long enough to lean in for a kiss, and things start to get kinda heavy, so we move on to her friends couch where I start to go down on her for about 15 minutes.
After we finish with that, she says she needs a cigarette but that we're definitely going to continue from where we left off. Basically, I just need to keep it together for long enough for her to smoke this cigarette, and I'm definitely getting some action. We go outside, and she starts to smoke. Right after she does this, I realize that I'm downwind from her. Big mistake. All the smoke goes directly into my face, making me incredibly lightheaded and nauseous. On top of that, in between puffs, she starts to make out with me. This, combined with the pussy smell that was lingering, and the fact that I was still really baked and spinning, was too much. I was immediately hit with the urge to puke. I stood up, trying to get some air and hoped that it would help me out a bit, but I was screwed. I ran to the bathroom, and vomited really loudly for the next 10 minutes. I tried to pull myself together, but it was too late. The instant I walked out of the bathroom she handed me my shoes. I muttered something to the effect of "this is why you don't sleep with strangers on the internet," and I made my way to Penn Station, where I had to sit for over an hour for the next train. The worst part of all of this: when I finally get to my stop at around 6 in the morning, I walk to my car, and out of nowhere the battery won't start. I walk of shame the 20 minute walk home, and pass the fuck out.