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Stripper Boyfriends Are The Worst Boyfriends

Illustration for article titled Stripper Boyfriends Are The Worst Boyfriends

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

Game cock:

When I was in college, I lived with four other guys in an apartment complex a few blocks away from the best strip club in town. I was the only one in school, the other three were all out in the working world but we all stayed up odd hours and seemed to end up at the club a couple times a month (I'd gotten a brick of free passes and lifetime membership card halfway through college through some strange circumstances so we never paid a cover).

Anyway, over the months of going I kept running into this stripper. Her stage name was Baby (of course it was) but I came to learn her real name was Anissa. Whenever I come around the club and she is there, she grabs me. I end up spending a hundo-plus most nights she's there but it's far less than the actual number of lap dances. There was some kissing and making out over that time but nothing I wouldn't expect any other stripper to do for the almighty dollar.

So one night, me and the four amigos go up to the club along with some other buddies and Anissa finds me around 1:30am. She says she has something to go do but not to leave. So I sit, have a beer and eventually she comes back and sits on my lap. She tells me I have to take her to the couch room for a lap dance (one meaning many of course).

We go back and she's really getting after it tonight. Normally she's good but she's never a package grabber and she's sloppy drunk making out with me, biting all over. It's pretty obvious something is different. (FWIW, we had exchanged numbers earlier. Had texted a little but nothing too serious)

Anyway, where bumping and grinding, she's grabbing all over me and I lose track of time.

As I'm sitting there enjoying the bliss, I hear someone yell, "ANISSA, YOU GODDAMN SLUT!" There's a shorter, bald guy with pythons for arms standing at the entrance to the couch room. He walks up and begins to just scream at her about how he's been waiting two hours and what the fuck she's doing with me. Turns out, it was her fiance ... who she lived with ... and had a kid with.

I'm a nervous wreck. I essentially sit back and take his yelling in, at both her and me. He leaves, I throw a few dollars her way, which was not nearly enough considering it is now 5am, and bolt out the door. (Yes, we were lap dancing/dry humping for 3-plus hours)

If memory serves me correct, I think I saw her one other time after and she just said. I moved to another state and by the time I got back she'd given up the pole for life as a housewife. I was this close to proving Chris Rock wrong ....



Shortly after my college graduation, I was out with some of my townie friends from work (yeah, I wasn't interested in leaving college, so I stuck around). We went to a crowded dance club, these townies and I, and proceeded to defile ourselves amongst the masses. We hadn't been there very long when I started dancing with a decent-looking girl who seemed really into me. She was apparently there at the club with a large group of girls, most of whom seemed to stay nearby most of the time I was talking to her. She was the talk-your-ear-off sort, which was ok at the time. I was, after all, in the Great Poon Drought of '01.

Anyway, before long it became apparent through my drunken haze that this girl's large group of friends was a bachelorette party, and a rather raucous and man-hating one at that. And they were on a…scavenger hunt. And one of the things they sought (at least according to the portly and obnoxious one currently in my face) was a pair of men's boxers. Asked the by-now gorgeous girl with whom I'd been dancing: could I provide? Why, yes! I happened to have a pair on right now! She grinned and said something that led me to believe there was much mischief in store for later.

So I joyfully bounce off to the nearest bathroom to shed my undies. BUT. When I took off my boxers, I happened to notice that they were decidedly on the shitty side. A large, vaguely circular-shaped fecal stamp of approval stared me in the face. I was now faced with the problem of breaking the promise I'd made to hot girl, or giving her an undergarment with a greasy hidden surprise.

Would they notice, and if so, would they care? The club was kinda dark, and some of them had penis earrings, for fuck's sake. Wait…YES they would care! Next idea: could I scrub the shit-tracks out in the bathroom sink? Probably, but that left the issue of explaining why my boxers were soaking wet. Then I started thinking hell, this is going to get me laid: should I offer one of these dudes some money for his (hopefully clean) underpants? And just how does one strike up that particular conversation?

So there I was, alone and panicked in the stall. Eventually I elected to wad them up, stuff ‘em in my pocket and just tell the girls that, heh heh, I'd forgotten that I hadn't worn any underwear. After ten minutes of being gone, this was not a likely story, but they politely pretended to buy it, and I soon parted ways with hot-girl. She apparently had no interest in hooking up with Weird Guy Who Took Ten Minutes in the Bathroom to Discover He Had No Underwear On.
The worst part is that I totally lost those underwear that night. That means that they either fell out of my pocket in the club, or in my townie-friend's car…or someone took them from my pocket.

Always wear clean underwear!


Senior year of college, a friend is going to a sorority dated party with a twin. The other twin is dateless and he's looking for a date for her. I'm friends with her and while I wasn't expecting any sort of hook up, but I don't care since it's open bar. Start with a predrink at the twins apartment where I took numerous shots. Due to an overcrowded bus I didn't even sit with my date on the way there, but I was feeling toasty so it didn't really bother me, and like I said, I wasn't expecting anything. After downing some more drinks at the bar (her too – and she took a lot of predrink shots too), we're grinding and making out in the middle of the dance floor like the ship's going down. Now that we're so severely drunk, and since our bodies are pressing up against each other, I'm thinking I have a shot to do something here. Night continues and we continue the make out sessions. Bus ride home and it's again crowded. Only now, she's sitting on my lap facing away and we're still going at it with people on both sides of us (sitting in the back seat of a coach bus with three seats across). Since she's in a short skirt I also go downtown, and I'm fingering her while making out in what I can only assume is in plain view of everyone. But I'm too drunk to notice and I'm already thinking about what's going down once we get back. But as we pull up back to campus, and everyone gets up to get off the bus, the twins start screaming at each other in front of everyone. Something about paying the bus driver (they were in charge of the event). Unfortunately, they were known to do this. So we get off the bus and they're still going at each other about who was supposed to do what. Not knowing what to do, I walk home and throw up on the way.

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