Cockblocked By Waves!

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

Drew Magary's on assignment, so you got me instead. He'll be back next week, so remember to email your Drunken Barbecue Hookup Failure stories his way then.

Read onward, you heathen bastards!

Joshua:

I was 18 and just graduated from boarding school where my sexual experiences were basically nil. I got into a very good college so my parents were receptive to my suggestion for a bike trip tour through Europe. Europe = no drinking age, got it? I figured spending 6 weeks of the summer biking, camping and drinking French wine with a dozen like-minded 16-18 year-olds with only 3 college kids as chaperones would be pretty good.

About 4 out of 6 weeks into the trip, we meet up with another tour group from the same company - all Americans like us. The good part: they had more and prettier girls. So the counselors decide to have a joint dinner with this other group - probably because they wanted to hook up with the other counselors, but who could blame them? So this huge dinner event becomes a drunken party for everyone and there is a lot of pairing off. Much to my inexperienced self's surprise, I find myself with a cute-ish (my memory is fuzzy these 20 years later) girl we shall call Sarah.

We are in the city of St Malo. This city is on the ocean. Where better to take a girl to make out than the beach at night? Genius! What I failed to process in my drunken and bonered state is that to get to the beach in St Malo, one must go down about 30 steps from the road because of a little thing called the tide. So Sarah and I are in the make-out huddle on the beach and things are going along fine. Second base is had, third base is contemplated. At this point, our feet must have been getting wet without our notice because out of nowhere - at least from our drunken perspective - a surge of surf roars in and drenches us over the legs. There is much cursing and scrambling for the steps. At the top of the steps, Sarah decides she needs to go to her hotel room now so I escort her there in silence.

[Lights pipe, puts on houndstooth blazer] Yes, you know, I graduated from boarding school, too, recently, in fact, and I went on a hot air balloon tour of the Loire Valley, during which Cordelia and I got all hot and bothered in the moat of the Chateau de Chenonceau. Nothing hotter than moat sex.

John:

The cat lady stereotype is one of my favorites and is 100 percent true. That said, I was seeing this girl, "Jayne" some time last year. She has two cats, Mr. Man and Missy Miss. This is two more cats than I'd like a girl to have (I hate cats). Usually, we meet up, she gets me drunk, and we do the deed. Not a bad deal, except she is batshit crazy. When I say crazy, I mean at anytime she could have a ridiculous outburst, mostly proclaiming her love for those cats. Whatever, she is hot, stupid, good in bed, and wants to buy me everything: WIN. Whenever I go over to her house I tell her how much I hate her cats, not that she values my opinion in the least, but I make it a point to let her know every time I am there. I hate her cats so much that I have gone to the extent of leaving Jayne's window a little too cracked in her SF high-rise apartment in hopes that maybe the felines want to ditch their nut job mother for greener pastures in an animal shelter somewhere, or perhaps just die.

Anyways…..so one night after drinking heavily, we go back to her house for a ‘night-cap'. Things are going well and I take my clothes off and jump in her bed. She goes to grab beers from the fridge (she is my sugar momma). As I move around in her bed I feel something cold and moist around my leg. Being drunk, I think nothing of it and continue to make myself comfortable as I wait for more beer and sex. On second drunken thought I take the covers off to find out what this could be. As I lift off the covers I come to find I have cat shit all over my legs. This is fucking gross. Those cats shit the bed to spite me for trying get them to jump 5 stories to their death. Cats: 1 Me: 0.

Don't you remember going to birthday parties once upon a time, and the more industrious, funny-in-a-little-bit-off-way mothers would make kitty litter cakes? I can't remember if those tasted good. But it brings me to a more important point: Cat turds are generally pretty coagulated. And cats are good about shitting in litter boxes. I call catshit.

Justin:

In the early wintry months of 2007, I had just returned from a year-long tour of Baghdad and looking to score any tail that I could. One of my first nights out upon my return took me to a dimly-lit club in my hometown with a longtime friend and a guy I had deployed with. It didn't take long for two chicks to join us at our table and it wasn't long after that that my brother (who had arrived on his own and knew the women, who were sisters) told me that the cuter one liked me and was probably DTF.

We followed the women to their car, which had two child seats in the back. After we were buckled in and about to drive away, I did some quick arithmetic and realized there were two women and three dudes, but I had the war card to pull and figured I was in. Ashley peeled out of the parking lot like the police were after us while her sister (Nikki) showed us the cocktail glasses they had just stolen from the club. At that point, Shawn, my comrade overseas, asked where we were going. Ashley and Nikki chimed in unison, "THE GHETTO!"

We indeed ended up on one of the "state" streets that indicated one had successfully found the ghetto (New York or Oklahoma or Pennsylvania, it was some state street) at a rundown two story section-8 apartment home thing that was anything but child-safe. Undeterred, we sat in the underfurnished living room drinking and flirting until Nikki dropped her phone in her Jaegermeister and began to cry while stomping off upstairs.

I followed Nikki into her room and began to lay whatever game you lay while someone is drunk and crying about their ruined cell phone, and I was making some progress. She had quit crying and was telling me how different I was and how she was so glad to have met me tonight while I massaged up and down her thigh. My shoes were off and she was inviting me to scoot up next to her when a quick series of thuds came stomping up the stairs. The door swung open and Ashley stood there, breathing heavily. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you hooking up or something, but, uh, can you go talk to your friends? You're cool. You can stay, BUT YOUR FRIENDS ARE THE BIGGEST ASSHOLES! SHAWN KEEPS TELLING ME HOW YOU'RE UP HERE PULLING MY SISTER'S HAIR AND SPANKING HER ASS AND FUCKING HER LIKE THE SLUT SHE IS! HE HAS TO LEAVE . . . NOW!" I rolled out of bed and put on my shoes to go strangle the shit out of Shawn, but, when I arrived downstairs, he and Mike were both gone. The front door was wide open. I went to grab my phone to call them when I realized my phone was gone too.

I used Ashley's phone to call them and Shawn answered, panting like a dog, "Hello?! Uh, we're at . . . uh, I don't know, we're in the ghetto. We just ran out the front door and started sprinting to get away from that crazy bitch. You should too." Ashley offered to drive me to their location to retrieve my phone and I did, as Shawn and Mike screamed out "She's going to kiiiiillllllll you!" while we drove away. I should have given in at that point, but a soldier never quits (so I'm told). I returned to their house in the ghetto and the upstairs bedroom hoping to pick up where we left off when Nikki said, "You can sleep in my bed, but if you try anything I'll fucking kill you. Thanks, Shawn.

The lesson: only hang out with feminist soldiers.

Jonathan:

So when I was 19 my best friend, Dan, was still dating his high school girlfriend, Maya. That summer, maya's mother was throwing herself a 50th bday party and invited all of dan's friends over to help celebrate. Immediately I spot an older woman, probably about 50, walking around the party, with a pink thong slightly showing from above her pants. Maya tells me that this woman is actually her mom's best friend, and is in from Rochester for the night and staying at their house in Long Island.

Fast forward an hour later, after all of us are partying with adults as if we're all stilll at a college rager. I mean body shots, shotgunning beers, the whole nine. Furthermore, all of the adults were Polish immigrants and were all just down to get real sloppy—good for them. At this point I decide that I am straight up going after this Polish woman of mystery. This woman, who I find out is named Yolanda, is making many inappropriate comments about how cute I am but that I am too young- showing me pictures of her daughter who is actually a year older than me as justification of why nothing could ever become of this awesome flirting. I also learn that she is 49—literally 30 years my senior.

The party eventually ends and me and my friends, being such gentlemen, decide to stay to help clean up the patio furniture. We say our goodbyes and Yolanda says that we should call a cab, she doesnt want us driving home drunk, and goes to give us goodbye kisses. Not American kisses, but Euro-kisses, with both cheeks getting a peck. She double kisses me, first kissing my left cheek, and then the right cheek, with literally a millimeter separating my mouth from hers. She retreats to her room then comes back 5 minutes later to again express her concern about our drunk driving. We say we're fine and she comes to kiss us goodnight again and I knew I had to go for it. Right after we have the left cheek kissed, we are full on making out. At this point, i grab her ass from inside her pants and pull her on top of me on the couch. We are very inappropriately making out for about 5 minutes and I know that this will soon be headed to the bedroom for an epic smash session. Unfortunately, right at this time, Maya's mother comes inside her own living room to see her best friend of 50 years grinding on her daughter's friend—with my hand down her pants to boot. She yells out "YOLANDA!!" followed by an insane amount of what I imagine was cursing, but all in Polish. Stunned, I waited upstairs to find out if this could continue. After a few minutes, she kicks me out of her house and has never allowed back in since. Oh, what could have been.

Airing soon, on Lifetime After Dark.