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


So a group of my friends and I go up to one of the guy's parents' house on a lake in New Hampshire one summer weekend for some boozing and general mayhem before we all head back to our very average jobs and lives. His parents weren't around, so we spent the weekend drinking their booze, building hugely unsafe bonfires at night, and being generally obnixious.

Anyway, there's a big party at the house on Saturday night that is serving as a pseudo-reunion for many of the local kids that we all went to school with. Coming to the party is a girl who I knew in college, Joyce.

I'm already four 7&7's in when she walks in with her friends, looking WAY hotter than I remember wearing nothing but Daisy Dukes and a black bikini top that is barely containing her large rack. She gives me a long hug hello and we immediately start the heavy flirting, lots of bodily contact while talking, etc. The drinking continues pretty heavily and two hours later, things are going well, we're both pretty tipsy so we take a walk down to the dock. We get down to the dock and no one else is around so I suggest we go for a midnight skinny dip, but she has other ideas and wants to take out my buddy's dads motorboat out for a ride. I obviously thought that was a splendid idea. My buddy passed out an hour or so before and the keys happened to be in the boat, so in my drunken state this all seemed like a flawless plan.

We're cruising along for a while, she's standing pretty close to me so I pull back on the throttle making an obvious "uh oh, looks like we're out of gas" joke. We both make a nervous drunken laugh, kiss, and the clothes start flying off. Joyce was into EVERYTHING and EVERYWHERE on the boat. She was way more experienced that I was.

Now, there was a slight problem. The 7&7s, cheap beer, and even cheaper hot dogs were starting to protest in my gut. Like full-on nauseous and being on a boat didn't help.

Fortunately, I am able to will my stomach to settle a bit without Joyce ever knowing what was going on. When all of a sudden there was a violently bright light being shown in my eyes accompanied by some high pitched sirens. Marine patrol here to fuck things up. Awesome. Needless to say, Joyce freaks out and stumbles around looking for her clothes. Unfortunately for me, she was moving around a lot and the boat starting rocking way more than before. The movement, along with the intense, flashing lights and the disorienting horns made me completely dizzy and I wasn't going to be able to control the nausea this time. I turned to try to throw up off the side of the boat, but Joyce, in her attempts to get dressed, moved right into my line of fire and puked all over her bare back. Joyce, of course, freaks out even more and starts basically flailing around, and in the confusion she whacks her head on the side of the boat and opens a gash over her eye.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds, just long enough for the marine patrol to pull up alongside with their goddamn spotlights. I hear a voice from behind the lights. "Miss, are you alright? Do you need assistance?" They said they drove over to the boat since the back light was off and they heard screams coming from it. Seeing Joyce half dressed with a bloody wound on her forehead, they immediately board the boat, make me lie face down (in my own puke) and keep asking her if she's okay or if she needs help and would like to get on the marine patrol boat to be dropped off somewhere. She says she's fine and explains what had happened but the cops still look at me like I'm a rapist or something. After ten minutes of Joyce telling them the complete story and pointing to the house where the bonfire is still raging, the cops were convinced that a crime wasn't committed on the boat.

However, they smugly decide to put me through an inspection of the boat, just to be total dicks. Where are the life jackets? Does the horn work? Do all the other lights work? Turns out, as soon as one of the cops touches the back light that caused all this shit, it lights right the fuck back up because it was just a little loose. Now, keep in mind, I'm completely hammered at this point and had no business driving that boat. The cops asked me a bunch of dickhead cop questions about whether I had been drinking ("I had a couple of beers…"). It soon became obvious that they were seriously just fucking with me and were really enjoying the fact that they had totally cockblocked me. They told me to bring the boat back to the house and go to sleep, but not before offering Joyce a ride back with them, if "she felt she was in danger." Dicks.

I didn't even bother trying to get things going again with Joyce after marine patrol left. By the time we got back to the house, the bleeding on her head had basically stopped. We slept in separate rooms, and she left the next morning before I woke up. I haven't seen her since, but I hope she didn't end up with a scar over her eye or anything. Fucking marine patrol.




It's college in the late 1980s, and I'm at some party in Santa Cruz where I went to school. I'm at a party where somehow I end up chatting with this impossibly sexy girl - hair down the length of her back, insane body and decidedly NOT a hippy like most of the population in Santa Cruz.

She says, "Let's go back to my place - I don't have a roommate." Excellent news, I think, so we make our way to her place - no idea how, I think we were both pretty smashed at this point - and quickly jump in bed. At some point, her top is off and I see that she has a tattoo on her shoulder blade of a rose with either a knife or a skull next to it, I can't remember — this was back when having a tattoo was rare, sort of dangerous and definitely sexy.

The room is also littered with canvases and she says something about being a painter and probably more, it's sort of cloudy at this point. I am a wee bit intimidated by her tattoo and her sexual confidence, just enough to be completely thrown off my game when she pulls a full stop to what is going on and says, "WHAT DO YOU DO?" For a while, I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just ignored her and tried to keep things going, but she kept stopping me and asking that same question: "WHAT DO YOU DO?" Finally I asked her to clarify, and she says, "Like ... aside from school, and drinking with your friends, what do you DO? Like ... what do you CREATE?"

As it turned out, I was writing a lot at the time as well as taking a drawing class I loved, but none of this came to mind. I stammered, thought more about how much I'd like to be having sex with Rose, and said, "I...don't know. Stuff?" She looked at me and said, "I can't be with someone who isn't an artist." At that point, I started mentioning writing and whatnot but even though it was true, I'm sure it both sounded fake and like an excuse and mostly sounded pretty desperate, which it was. I did spend the night and I think we made out a little bit more but nothing else. Later, my friend dated her for a few years and 20 years later still says she was the best sex he ever had. Oh, and he wasn't an artist in any way, shape or form, unless selling weed is somehow an art form I'm not aware of. Frigging art.


"Art. Ask for more."


I lived in an off campus apartment with 3 of my fraternity brothers and it so happened that we lived across the hall from these 2 girls we went to school with and who we knew from our freshman year, Marissa and Cara. We'd always party and go out to the bars with them and we all became pretty good friends with the occasional hook up here and there nothing too serious. One weekend in particular, Cara decides to bring in her friend from home, named Stacy out to the bars with us.

So we are pregaming, everyone is having a good time and immediately me and Stacy are talking and we continue to talk throughout the rest of the night. About 3am we all get back in from the bar shitfaced, and me and Stacy head back to my room, and immediately start hooking up. Clothes are coming off, and and she's going down on me and its great. I am about to go in and she's asks if I can put on a condom. Side part of the story, I had just recently had broken up with my long time girlfriend whom I was dating for 2 years so condoms never came into play.

Since I was shitfaced (I knew she was pretty wasted) and afraid that this girl would fall asleep if I went to find a condom, I decided on this great idea, which would ultimately lead to my downfall. I decide to turn off the lights and go in my dresser and fumble around and pretend to put on a condom. I get on top of her, and were going at it and everything is great. To my amazement she doesn't notice a thing. At this point a normal human being would try and fuck her and finish as quickly as possible. Not this guy. So we are going at it, and I'm getting bored of missionary and ask her to bend over.

She obliges and I'm approaching from behind and she grabs my dick to try and guide it in, she then notices that I am not wearing a condom and screams WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! I try to tell her the condom broke, but to no avail. I am pretty pissed off I got caught, but not wanting to give up on the hook up, ask her if she can finish me off. She declines and gets dressed quickly and heads next store to her friends room. I pass out and the next day Cara is pissed off at me for what I did to her friend, and from that moment on she made it a point to cock block me whenever she got the chance. Safe to say, me Cara and Marissa are all no longer friends. Oh well.


You kind of earned that.