Never Hook Up In A Bunk Bed

Illustration for article titled Never Hook Up In A Bunk Bed

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



During my sophomore year at college my fraternity had a 'dry dance party' in our house (In what we saw as classic frat-wit, we urged people to 'come wet' . . .ughhh) Anyhow about an hour into this party, this freshman girl who had caught my eye around campus comes up to me, grabs me and takes me out on the dance floor.

As goes the dancing at most white boy frat parties, our 'dancing' was simply a means to an end. Soon, this girl had me up against the wall and we were making out pretty hard. I liked where my night was going at this point in the evening, aside from the dick burn I was getting from tucking my boner into my waistband to avoid embarrassment when I would periodically leave my target on the dance floor to go upstairs to my buddy's room to take some pulls of a bottle of Jack he had stashed away .

As the party broke up, I asked her if she wanted to come to my room, which was down the hall. Without hesitation, she agreed. Once we got to my room, I was faced with a problem. My bed, the lower bunk, was an absolute mess. Dirty clothes everywhere. So I did what any college guy would do, blamed that mess on my roommate and told her the top bunk was mine.

Things were going well, we were both naked and making out, but I was sensing some hesitancy on her part to take things any further. I figured that if I went down on her she might feel compelled to reciprocate. So I get to work, and I'm down there for like 30 minutes. I'm starting to cramp up but refuse to throw in the towel. At this point, I'm doing everything I can to get this girl to facilitate my ejaculation.

Eventually she says something to the extent of 'You're doing all the work. Maybe I can help you out?" Jackpot!

In my haste, I roll my lower body off the bed, forgetting I'm on the top bunk. That facilitates a full on belly flop to the ground. Unfortunately for me, my fall was broken by the wooden chair I had positioned by the bed to help the girl up. I hit that sonofabitch sternum first and proceed to writhe around naked on the ground, making a noise that the girl later likened to the sounds that TV reporter made after she fell off the platform while crushing grapes.

This, apparently, is a mood killer. I don't know how long I was on the ground, but it was long enough for the girl to get dressed, ask if I was alright, kiss me on the head and walk out. I slept on my floor that night, only to be woken up at 7:30 a.m. by my roommate who reminded me that we needed to get over to the YMCA to coach our 8th grade rec basketball team. I didn't have time to shower, just threw on my dirty clothes and sprayed an ungodly amount of Axe on myself.

I fought through an terrible hangover and had a hard time taking a deep breath (That fall would cost me two broken ribs). But I still gathered the team in a huddle to make what I expected to be a rousing Gary Gaines 'Friday Night Light' speech. Apparently that's not what the kids took away from it. Just before the game started, Zach, our backup center, who I was sure came to our practices and games high, pulls me aside and goes, 'Yo coach. Your face smells like pussy."

Desperation is a stinky cologne, indeed.

A dry dance party? Is that an ORU thing?


It was late winter in Denver, and I had a friend who was moving from his rental house, and decided to throw a large bash as a going-away-gift…to…himself. Well, despite his douche-tastic personality and ability to draw Jersey Shore comparisons on himself, he had a fairly well attended gathering on his hands, and the female population was equally impressive. I immediately start chatting up this cute girl and she mentioned her going away gift for the dude, and I knew I was not long for the conversation. I am not one for baubles or pleasantries, so I decided that my gift to him would be to upper-deck his toilet before he moved away.

His room was in the basement and had a bathroom in the master suite, so I felt I could wreak-gastrointestinal havoc on his toilet far from the party with no fear of ruining the soirée. I had never upper-decked before, so my concept of technique was lacking, to say the least. I was having difficulty keeping my cheeks spread enough to really get my contents into the tank. As my cheeks would naturally come together, it would cause the shit to spew out as if someone was placing their thumb over the end of a garden hose to increase the PSI. I knew I had plans for upper-decking, so my meals that day consisted of highly burrito-like substances. So my shit is spraying nowhere near the bowl, climbing up the wall like a Jackson Pollock painting strapped to an IED. After about 2 minutes of rectal supernova, I stand in terrified amazement at what had happened. It was surreal. This was my brown opus.

I fortunately had the foresight to know when there's shit, there's pee, so I had a Coors Light bottle in hand to urinate into. After I do my best to clean up the feces blown all of the walls and curiously the ceiling, using the regular towels that sufficed long after I ran out of toilet paper, I finally left my septic tomb.

I was covered in sweat (exhausted from not only the deed, but being my own Hazmat effort afterwards), shit, and Comet, found under the sink. I get upstairs, start chatting up the young missus who caught my eye when I first got there, drunkenly went to kiss her, and she asked me, "Ohmygod what is that smell?". You can imagine my nerves…I immediately get self-conscious, and to break the tension, I take a swig of my beer. But there was no beer, or at least, it hadn't been beer for about 2 hours. The waterfall of my own urine hit my esophagus, my gag reflexed rose up like a Phoenix from the ashes, and all the contents that had not been shit out previously, were retched up through my mouth and nose on to the girl who stood before me. Needless to say, I was not welcome back at that friends gatherings for quite some time. I haven't drank out of a bottle without first giving it a sniff like a wine snob since. Although curiously, peed out Coors Light really doesn't taste that different from regular Coors Light. Who knew?


I was at the bar with some buddies when a group of girls walked in, one of whom worked with one of my friends. Our groups end up mingling, and I set my sights on Sarah, a gorgeous brunette with a healthy pair of dashboard softeners. I find a way to start talking to her, and we end up sitting at the bar together while the rest of the group spreads out throughout the bar. Surprisingly, she's buying what little game I've got, and after a few drinks I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get the chance to motorboat those sweater puppies before the night is over.

She starts putting her hand on my leg, I keep her laughing, and some drunken making out confirms the fact that I'm not sleeping alone that night. We left our friends and head back to her place, with her rubbing my junk through my jeans on the cab ride. So we get into her place, and do the whole make out while getting undressed on the way to the bedroom thing. I'm down to boxers, but I've only been able to get her jeans off - she keeps moving my hand when I go for the shirt. We get onto her bed, when suddenly she sits up and says "Wait, I need to tell you something first." Fortunately I'd gotten the jeans off so I was pretty sure she wasn't a dude. "I just got a boob job, and tonight was my first night out after the surgery - they're a little sensitive." Okay, motorboating might be out of the picture. I play the sensitive nice guy and tell her that it's not a big deal.

With her fear assuaged, I coax her out of her shirt. She reaches back and unsnaps her bra, revealing the most scarred, terrifying set of tits I've ever seen. Her nipples looked like they had been welded on there. I still wanted to get laid, so I put on my best "this isn't the most horrifying sight I've ever seen" face, and tried to smile. She bought it, and said "They're really firm, and you're supposed to massage them - do you wanna massage them for me?" I had no desire to go near these things, but before I knew it, I had my hands on those mangled mounds, massaging away. She starts moaning and I figured after a few minutes of hell, I'd be on my way to heaven. I tried to move my hands off her tits, but she kept putting them back on there.

Finally she looks at me and says "This feels incredible. If you want to keep doing this, I'd love that, but I don't really feel like doing anything further." I kept my hands on there for a few more seconds before I told her I thought I heard my phone vibrating from my pants in the other room. I went out, got dressed, and told her my roomate locked him out of the apartment and I needed to go, and left with a massive case of blue balls and the image of those scarred titties burned into my memory.