Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase five heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go.
So it's my junior year of college at a MAC school. At my apartment, my roommate and I organized a Martin Luther King Jr. day party. Getting the brilliant, albeit unoriginal, idea of using our washing machine as our cooler was working out great and its location next to the beer pong table was ideal.
At one point, I had held the table for a little over an hour and a half and a friend of my roommate's who was visiting from where they went to undergrad together wanted to play. So, playing wingman, my teammate takes her friend and we start a new game. She swears up and down that she had never played before, but her beginner's luck was off the charts. After winning a few more games, nobody wants to play us anymore. She decides that she wants to keep playing anyway. So we play one-on-one. After we split two games thanks to my pre-game warm-up of shots of Jack, she tells me that if I can pitch a shutout and hit 10 consecutive, she'll give me head.
Somehow, while maintaining balance and coordination despite seeing about 25 cups instead of 10, I manage to hit 8 in a row before missing the 9th cup by a good foot and a half. She smiles and tells me that she'll get me off anyway. My apartment was technically campus housing and had four separate bedrooms. So we go back to my room and sloppily make out for a couple minutes before she starts giving me, to my memory, the best BJ I've ever gotten. Odds are it was awful, but I'm too drunk to give a shit.
After maybe a minute and a half or so, the fucking fire alarm starts going off. Generally, we ignored them because giving a building full of dumbass college kids the use of kitchens would lead to stupid shit like burnt popcorn, black toast, or just another drunken asshole pulling the fire alarm. Startled, this girl abruptly stops and begins to run out of my room to get her coat from the living room. I stop her and ask what the hell she's doing. She responds with some slurred story about some friend of hers and a fire alarm and skin grafts. Despite my best efforts, she's adamant about going outside. I hear sirens coming down the main street that my apartment was on, so in my drunken stupor, I assume they're coming here and maybe there's something going on.
So I go outside with her, my balls feeling like boulders. One of my other roommates is a complete mess outside. So much so that he's outside shirtless, sitting on the snow-covered lawn, playing an acoustic guitar and singing a horrible version of It's Not Over by Daughtry. I'm leaning up against a light pole to keep my balance and the girl that was blowing me goes and sits next to him. She starts singing along and I periodically black out.
I wake up the next morning, and stumble in to the kitchen through a collection of Christmas Ale bottles and crushed PBR cans. My roommate who I organized the party with is completely immune to hangovers and is already making himself breakfast. As I'm talking to him, the girl comes out from my other roommate's room wearing his comforter while she walks to the living room to get her clothes. She looks at me and I return the look, shaking my head. She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Sorry, I love that song".
I never went outside for another fire alarm after that.
Time for a DHF reverse angle!
One Saturday afternoon, My friend Joe (not his real name) invited me over to watch some of the college football games going on. I was hesitant considering the copious amounts of Brett Favre style pictures he had sent me the night before, but he assured me that we would just chill. So, since I don't have a car on campus, he came and picked me up from a friends house to go to his place. Granted, I should've realized by the strong smell of beer, and considering out extremely awkward hookups in the past, this was definitely not a good idea, but he had a sick big screen to watch the games on, so I was down.
When we got to his place, he tried every weird maneuver in the book to try to put his arm around me or some other junior high "move." I decided, I was going to suck it up and amuse him with a makeout session, thinking he would back off a little. I mean, I like a little bit of a chase. In the middle of us making out, he pulled away and in his drunken stupor said, "I want to get naked." Thinking he wasn't serious I said, "alright, do it." He then sat there on his couch with no pants on. I kept giving him the- looking at your soft dick is not doing anything for me look, but he missed that memo.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, he tried to convince me that because he was an Army ROTC student, he deserves a blow job because one day he would be fighting for our country. Though I was impressed with his attempt, I still declined. Notre Dame was playing and that seemed more interesting then blowing this kid. We went back and forth for a few minutes and he finally put on his pants and stumbled to his room. Honestly, I figured he was going to be sick or something, so I just continued to watch the game.
I heard him come back out of his room, and he was fumbling around in the kitchen behind me. I chose to ignore him, and keep watching. Then I started hearing weird moaning, like really weird, like dying animal type noises. I turned around, and he is standing right behind me, butt ass naked, jerking off. As I was about to say, "Joe, what the hell are you doing!?" he projectile splooged all over the couch, hit the hall, and nailed me straight in my eye and all over my hair. I didn't know if I was more shocked at the distance he achieved, or if that really just happened. All he could say was, "this isn't my couch, I gotta clean it." I just walked out and walked home while he was naked cleaning. Needless to say, I didnt go back...
Can't you press charges for that? I feel like that's clearly assault. Also, ladies: When a man tells you he wants to get naked, he's never NOT serious. Don't be so naïve. And don't make out with a guy thinking that will get him to STOP wanting sex.
Another reverse angle!
So, a few years ago I was living in a small town in rural Wisconsin and for lack of better things to do, was on a local volunteer fire department as a firefighter and EMT. We got to burn stuff, tear apart cars with the jaws of life, and have 2 entire refrigerators of free beer on the taxpayer's dime. The best perk of all, however, was getting permission to have lights and sirens in your personal vehicle. That's right, my tan '95 Honda Accord was decked with 6 different red & white lights (all inside the car, like an undercover) and a siren that would wake the dead.
People would always ask how fast I'd go and how fun it was to have people pull over for you, etc., etc. but I'd never, ever misuse them. Except once. Three friends and I are driving home from somewhere about 2am and we'd been out enjoying ourselves. It's in the middle of nowhere on a narrow road and there are no streetlights so it's pretty damn dark. Ahead we see a car parked on the side of the road facing us. As we approach, we all see a dude leaning against the driver's side door and a young woman on her knees performing fellatio. They're both completely nude.
We drive by going about 20mph and they cover up a little bit, probably questioning their determination that standing in the middle of the road is the best place for a BJ. We drove by and I stopped the car about 50ft past them, to debate what to do next. The young lady didn't debate, as she resumed her duties apparently not noticing that we'd stopped. After some brief discussion, I jacked it in reverse and hit the lights and sirens as loud and bright as they would go. The scene looked a lot like a nude three stooges scene, as the lady obviously took a bite, the dude doubled over in pain, she hit him in the head with the car door as she dove into the driver's seat. We drove away enjoying the best laughter you can imagine.
Was it a dick move? Absolutely. Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Fall semester of my senior year. I am well on my way to being mangled on a Thursday night. While I am going from a bar to a party when I run back into my apartment to grab smokes. I run into hot redhead in elevator coming back from her sorority and we start talking. Talking leads to her getting off on my floor, then coming into my apartment with me, then into my bedroom where we start our usual drunken make-out session before she remembers she has a boyfriend and leaves.
Not this time you say? True and false. In the early stages of going at it, she excuses herself to run to our bathroom. I'm assuming she's going to pull the trigger, but she soon returns and we actually start fucking. Finally, three and a half years of sexual frustration being released as we put a hurting on each other. A few minutes in, one of my roommates comes home. I know this because my bedroom is right next to the front door. His arrival did not stop us. What stopped us was him, pounding on my door while screaming, "Dude, did you shit in the bathroom last? There's shit all over the toilet! You're a fucking pig!"
Even though it was dark in my room I could see the redhead's eyes open like a deer in headlights. Finishing this was out of the question. She quickly started stammering about how she has to go, how she's kind of dating a guy anyway, how she's sorry, etc. and is dressed and gone in under a minute.
Now drunk, cockblocked, and ALONE, I go to find out what the big fucking deal is from my roommate. I am greeted by shit stains COATING the toilet. Like, seriously. Total slopfest. The best way I could relate the carnage would be: eat a full meal, like totally full to the point of sickness, then eat three Fiber One bars, then refrain from shitting until you literally can no longer wait. Then have yourself a little peek in the toilet after you leave that masterpiece. Something similar to that.
I guess I knew where she was headed in the elevator before this all began.
I kinda like her after reading that.
A few years ago I took a job requiring me to move half way across the country from my hometown in Vermont. The week before I move some friends and I are at the bar where apparently I caught the eye of this girl who was a few years behind me in high school. I noticed her looking at me a couple times before she left after one her friends puked all over the dance floor. Should have taken that as an omen.
The next day I see her at a gas station, we start talking, and she says she wants to get together. I figure I'm leaving the area so...how about tonight?
I head to her apartment and after putting back a box of wine (it was a nice vintage) things get going in her bedroom. Making out, shirts off, etc. Then things start crashing down in her living room. We go out to find an end table and lamp on the floor while her fucking cat is literally having what I assume was an aneurysm. Spinning around wildly, rabid hissing, and blood coming from several orifaces (orifi?). She quickly starts freaking out -"What are we going to do?" *sob sob* "I love him so much" *sob sob*. Good times. It was even better after I corralled the damn thing in a laundry basket, called a friend to come over with his pistol, and put the cat out of its misery in the backyard. And with that the night turned from Franzia induced depravity to whatever the hell you call it when a girl goes through a half box of Kleenex in 4 hours.
And yes I have heard pretty much every variation on the "that's one cold pussy" joke.
At least the cat died. Something of a happy ending.