Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase two heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
One night a couple weeks into freshman year of college, some guys on my floor and I were drinking a 30-pack of Busch Light with a few ladies some of the dudes knew. I ended up sitting next to a cute blonde with an enormous rack who went to high school with a guy on my floor. She wasn't drinking beers, but every twenty minutes or so would take a shot of Bacardi Limon. We got along great, and after four or five Limons she seemed into me. We listened to Phish and played Asshole, then Land Mines. There was magic in the air.
We later went to this douchebag frat house's basement party. Pretty standard scene: keg beer, dollar shots, loud music, bomb shelter atmosphere. I kept hanging with this chick, who kept being into me but seemed to get more googley-eyed by the minute. We danced, we grinded, we engaged in a little bit of necking on the dance floor but nothing serious. At one point we got separated, but I knew it wouldn't be hard to track her down later.
Once back at the dorm, a couple of us started the room-to-rooms, seeing what everybody was up to. At one end of our hall there was this longhaired wannabe hippy dude, the J. Crew type but nice enough. I heard him playing guitar, so I headed down to say hey and see what his chops were all about for a minute. I opened the door, and there she sat, my big-titted blonde, on the edge of his bed, watching him play. He had his shirt off and his hat backwards, hair tucked behind the ears, eyes closed, so "into it". She barely acknowledge my presence, so enraptured by this dude's open-chord strumming, but he looked over and winked before singing what we later came to know was his go-to hook-up jam:
John Denver, "Country Roads".
I watched him play the whole goddamn song, every strum, every modulation, not believing that THIS was going to seal the deal for him. When he finished the song, she muttered, almost in a trance, looking deep into his eyes, "That. Was. Amazing."
Piece of shit. Bested, I kindly shut the door for them.
He fucked her that night, she began hooking up with basketball and soccer players shortly thereafter, and no non-athletes got a crack at her for the rest of college. Asshole.
A fine gentleman's club known for the quality of its talent near where I was living when I was in grad school hosted an amateur night once a month on the first Tuesday night of the month. Being students without real jobs to wake up to on Wednesday, a group of my buddies made the trip with me to see naked girls, drink beers and hopefully see some amateur college girls break into the business. As my friends can attest, I never pass up the chance to support single moms.
While we are at the club waiting for the contest to start, one of the regular dancers is performing for me on stage. "Alexa" has a rocking body, so I am tipping her and we are having a good time. After she wraps up her set she comes over to the stage and sits right next to me. I keep feeding her dollar bills to tip the other girls on stage and am getting an awful lot of attention from Alexa and the rotating girls on stage. Alexa's escalating girl-girl action with the dancers on stage is really hot, and I can tell that she is getting excited as well. Alexa keeps licking her lips and rubbing her finger over the top of her black G-string and talking about how wet she is. As a veteran of gentleman's clubs you must always remember that objective number one for the dancer is separating you from your money, so my radar was up. Eventually I start to grow tired of Alexa's "I need to be the center of attention" act and her tattoos go from being novel to trashy as I sour on her personality. I excuse myself to grab more beers for my friends to shake her.
When I get back from the bar I am relieved to see that Alexa has moved on. My friends and I are having a great time, and I am several beers into my evening at this point, right at that magic moment when I start to lose some of my inhibitions. The prospect of a greater crowd for amateur night has led to the A-team working the club on Tuesday despite mediocre attendance, and we are getting lots of attention.
I notice her right when she walks in. In her heels she is almost my height (5-11') with dark hair, a perfect rack and a really pretty face. Even at the strip club she was the girl that everyone in the room wanted to see naked. She is one of those girls that is really pretty without having to try too hard, but just off the charts good looking. I tell my friends that I hope that she is here for the amateur competition because there is no doubt in my mind that she will win the $1000 prize. Everyone agrees. To my surprise she sits down next to me at the stage and we start talking. I am sorely disappointed to learn that she is not there for the competition. She is there because one of her friends is in the competition, and she wants to support her in the crowd because her friend was a little nervous about taking her clothes off in public. "She shouldn't be," Erin tells me, "she has a great body."
I learn that "Erin" is a grad student. Through the help of the alcohol I am incredibly confident and outgoing, and we start talking and having a great time. I buy her a vodka soda and as the alcohol courses through my veins I can't believe that this knockout is laughing at my jokes and that she is really smart - she goes to the Ivy League school in town. She confesses that she is attracted to smart people, "like you," she says with a smile as we talk about school and career ambitions. There is a connection here. I can feel it.
I am undressing Erin with my eyes as she looks at her phone. Her friend had just texted her that she was too nervous and was bailing on the contest. I assume Erin will bolt, and I curse my awful luck. Erin doesn't miss a beat. She tells me that she wants to stay and hang out with me because she is having such a good time as she rubs my thigh.
At this point the amateur competition has started and the alcohol is really coursing through my veins. Our conversation turns more erotic as we talk about the girls on stage and what we like about them and their bodies. It becomes clear very quickly that Erin is open-minded sexually and then she drops the bombshell of all bombshells - she is in to both guys and girls and is attracted to people, not genders. Holy shit, I think to myself, this has infinite possibilities. Erin is leaning over the stage and I can't stop looking at her cleavage in her low-cut top. Her jeans are riding a bit low in the back, and I can see the top of her G-string. It is difficult to not take her clothes off right there as my hands touch her thigh, her midrift, her shoulders. She finds me easy to talk to as she details exactly what she likes and how she likes it in the bedroom. She reveals that she's on a bit of a dry spell and needs to end it. As I looked into her eyes, I have never been more aroused in my entire life.
The amateur contest ends, and Erin confesses that she is buzzing now from the vodka and is really turned on from the naked girls and talking about sex with me. "You should see my nipples," she teases. I decide that I need to take this bull by the horns before something ruins it. "Let me buy you a lap dance," I whisper to her. I tell her that she can pick out any of the dancers that she wants. Erin loves the idea and implies that in the back room the stripper might not be the only girl getting naked. I try to act casual, but I feel like I am a cartoon character and my eyes are so wide open that they are bugging out of my head. She says that she was talking to a dancer earlier that she thought was hot and had caught her attention. "Maybe she'll even be open to coming back with us later to my place," Erin says to me with a naughty smile as she runs off to find the dancer that had caught her eye earlier.
At this point I am at the "pinch me this isn't happening" level of incredulousness. I'm about to witness the best lap dance in the history of mankind as a stripper grinds on one of the most attractive women I've ever seen in my life, this same ridiculously hot chick is horny and wants to fuck the shit out of me, and we may also have a threesome with a knockout from the club. I remember thinking, enjoy this, breathe it in, slow time down, don't let it end. EVER. This might be the crowning moment of your entire life. Act cool. Pretend this happens to you all the time. Don't fuck it up. I relax. I can't fuck this up. This was meant to be.
I feel a tug as Alexa grabs me by the shirt and pulls me up to the stage where she is dancing. "Hey there," she says as she wraps her arm around me. I groan to myself at the thought of interacting with Alexa for another second, but not even she can ruin this moment, the pinnacle of my life to this point. I fish out my wallet to drop her a courtesy dollar, right as I catch Erin and the hot blonde dancer that she has found for our lap dance out of the corner of my eye. I turn and see the look of disappointment and embarrassment on Erin's face as she assumes that I had two-timed her after she put herself out there and opened up so intimately to me. I'll go to the grave remembering that look on her face. Erin doesn't say a word as she turns and storms off. I disentangle myself from Alexa and try to run after her, but it's too late; she's gone.
"Do you want to buy a dance?" Alexa asks me. No, I don't want to buy a fucking dance, I want to go home and cry. I never even got Erin's number.