Welcome to Great Moments in Drunken Hookup Failure, where we showcase five heartwarming true stories of drunken love gone horribly awry. Off we go. But first, an announcement.
In the very near future, we're going to be doing a bit of a theme week here at Deadspin. That's right. IT'S GREEN WEEK! No, no. Just kidding. We'd never do that shit to you.
No, we're going to have a Spring Break week. As such, I have been charged with collecting every Spring Break horror story you good folks can muster. So send them my way. They can be hookup failures, poop stories, times you got your ass kicked, anything. All I care about is that they concern you going on Spring Break, and that you suffer some sort of pain and/or humiliation. Don't send me some shit about how you banged a fat girl. I don't care. Don't send me some email about how you went down on a girl who was on her menzies. Again, I don't care. I get a dozen of those every week. WAHHH HER VAG SMELLED BAD! Suck it up. Don't be a fucking baby.
Best stories will be posted on the site. So make them count. Now, to the hookupFAILs…
I am at the Boot on a Friday night one spring hanging out with some friends. Anyway, the time for whatever we were waiting for was fast approaching and it was time to leave. I gathered near the door with my friends while we waited for a few stragglers to say goodbye to whoever they needed to say goodbye to. I stood there zoned out in a drunken haze waiting for the signal to leave.
Next thing I know, I am being dragged down Broadway by my entry wristband by a 5 foot tall South American chick. (I am at least a foot taller). Confused, I try to introduce myself and she cuts me off by saying, "I don't give a shit what your name is." We get to her house (also on Broadway) and she stands on her entry stairs and starts molesting me. So far, so good. We make it into her living room in a frenzy of torn clothing and sloppy make out. As our clothes come off, she jumps on me and wraps her legs around my waist. I trip over something on the floor and fall through her glass coffee table cutting my back and chest in several places. She just goes, "Oh fuck, my roommate is going to be pissed. Oh well, I hate that bitch anyway."
Then she drags me into her room and sex starts happening. About 3 minutes into it, we hear angry voices yelling, "New Orleans Police-drop your weapons!"
At this point the cuts from the table are bleeding pretty bad. I take myself out of her and throw on her pink robe. I walk out to two very angry NOPD officers responding to a domestic dispute reported by the downstairs neighbor when the coffee table shattered. After 20 minutes of her convincing the cops that: 1) I did not break in to rape her and 2) She lives here, the police leave. Then we resume the sex. About 15 minutes later, we are making sweet tender love with her bent over her dresser and me standing behind when her roommate kicks her door open. The doorknob gives me a hip stinger and a dead leg all at once. Her roommate starts berating me and her about how we broke the coffee table. Then her roommate AND her decide it is all my fault and basically start throwing things at me.
At this point, I am very confused and I retreat to the bathroom to clean my wounds. Then the girl comes in and says she is sorry, but wanted to blame me in front of her roommate so her roommate wouldn't be mad at her. She then tells me to leave, but just stay on the porch for a minute and she will let me back in. She promises to let me do whatever I want to her. I find my pants and walk out and apologize to her roommate, then I offer to replace the table because "my dad owns a furniture factory, I swear." I grab a pen and a piece of paper and write a fake phone number and write Jason, for a free table. I then leave. I never saw either of those classy ladies again. (Although I am not sure I would recognize them if I did.)
Jack's last name? Nordberg.
I had been in DC a few months for graduate school and the school sometimes sponsored mixers at bars. At one such event in Adams Morgan, I proceeded to get totally loaded with some of my classmates. Anyway, by the time the lights came on at the bar, the only three left were me, a girl from my school and her roommate.
I suggested we continue drinking at their apartment, they happily agreed. I thought (stupidly) that I had a chance with at least one of them, if not both. So we get back to their place and after a drink or two, my classmate announces she is tired and leaves me with the roommate. Almost immediately, we start going at it. I suggest we move to the bedroom, she agrees (still looks pretty good right?). We get there and she hits me with this zinger, "let's keep it above the waist tonight." FAIL. I tried every line to convince her, to no avail. So I just gave up and waited for her to fall asleep so I could sneak out, sleep in my own bed and spare the humiliation of waking up next to her. I figured at least with this way I would avoid too much embarrassment at school.
Alas, it was not to be.
I quietly put my clothes back on and tiptoed out of her room, through the kitchen and out the door. I closed it behind me and heard it lock shut with a loud click. I then turned to leave and was quite surprised to find myself in a 3ftx3ft steel door cage, the kind that is used to prevent the scum of DC from breaking down your door and killing you in your sleep. The biggest problem with this situation was that the cage needed A KEY to open. I did not have said key. OK, I figured I'd just call my friend and get the humiliation over with. But that didn't work either because she was passed out in her room and her cell phone could be seen ringing on the kitchen table.
Next step, attempt to drunkenly kick in door. This also failed because I could barely land a solid kick with so little room to maneuver and the door was brand new and locked tight. But I gave it a good effort and beat that door to shit (without kicking it all the way it) making so much noise that the landlord came down in his skivvies with a baseball bat ready to beat down the "burglar." He took pity on me, let me out and I slunked home.
The next day I get a call from my classmate, "You want to tell me why we are stuck in our apartment?"
In the end, I did not have sex, I had to pay almost $300 to fix the door, and had to see the roommate everyday at school for the rest of the year.
"Could everyone stop getting shot?!"
We had a Christmas party at our old apartment, and it was great, had way more booze to know what to do with and I was celebrating a one year anniversary with my girlfriend. Anyway, to celebrate, we all had shots of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels. I realize that I am drinking fast, and I feel lighter, as liquor is known to do.
The night continues, and I am having a great time, everyone is drinking, dancing, eating all my food, etc. Great night. I am drunk at this point. My girlfriend is too. At some point in the night, she comes over and says: "I want to have sex." We go to my bedroom. We're both having fun, sloppy sex with our Santa hats on, and it's actually going great. I feel I can actually finish. Tonight will succeed as a great night!
But then, after a little up and down, she says, "Oh God, I have to pee." I know I might be screwed if she leaves the room. I will lose the boner. But she understands and does the amazing thing and says, "Wait! Here! Watch some porn! I'll be right back!" She puts on a sweet little two on one on the YouPorn, it's wonderful. She leaves. This goes on for a while, and it is working.
DOOR FLIES OPEN. I am not startled because it's obviously her.
It ISN'T. It's a guy named, let's say, Chucky, and he's hammered looking for the bathroom. He says, "Whoa!" obviously, but he's real drunk and doesn't leave. He is standing in the doorway watching a naked man masturbating to porn in a Santa Hat alone at a Christmas party. I can only imagine what the man was thinking.
I tell him to fuck off politely. He closes the door. I am so fucking startled and embarrassed I immediately lose all sexual desire at all. The girlfriend comes back.
Upon seeing I am no longer ready to go, she in drunk mode, STARTS TO CRY. "Why don't you love me? Why don't you want to have sex with me?! Why are you so drunk!?"
I explain to her the story and she eventually calms down, but the sexual moment was destroyed. KEEP YOUR DOORS LOCKED BOYS.
The Santa Hat really makes the story.
I grew up a Mormon in Utah and, as such, had the evils of masturbation hammered into me from an early age. Despite leaving the church while in high school, I never really got into masturbating (i.e. did not do it throughout my final two years of high school or college).
See the problem with never jacking it is that you suffer from chronic wet dreams. This problem is exacerbated when you've had any sort of intimate contact with a female, such as a thirty-minute handjob. After telling the girl, "Sorry but I just don't think it's going to happen for me tonight,"I rolled over and went to sleep in her bed. I woke up 4 hours later to what might have been three gallons of sleep sperm, spread generously all over her mattress, sheets, and comforter.
At this point, I am in panic mode. If I get up, she will wake up and discover that her bed is coated in my would-be offspring. Suddenly a genius idea strikes me: "Sleep semen is liquid, heat dries liquids, friction creates heat…I just need to hump all the sperm spots to create enough friction to evaporate that shit."
Well, I humped the hell out of several areas on the mattress, I pinned down a portion of the sheets and humped them too, all that was left was the comforter. I should probably mention that I wasn't trying to eliminate all traces of semen, just make it so the bed didn't seem like it had been dipped in clear caramel. Anyway, almost immediately after I trapped a piece of the comforter between my legs the girl woke up and asked me what I was doing. I told her that I couldn't sleep and that I should probably take a shower to see if it relaxes me. With that, I bolted for the door, headed back to my room (which was next door), and never looked back which is a euphemism for I went on to see this girl almost every day for the remainder of the school year with the shameful knowledge (she had told others) she knew what I had done.
That's what you get for being a Mormon.
I reach for a package of free condoms I got from the Peer Health Educators on campus - only to find that those FUCKERS STAPLED THEIR CARD TO EVERY CONDOM PACKAGE! All 20 were presumably punctured, thus killing any chance I had to get laid that night.
Finally, a correction from a doctor with regards to torn frenulums.
I submit my qualifications- board certified urologist with completion of a one year fellowship in men's sexual health. I'm the director for the center for human sexuality at a major university hospital. The vast majority of the surgeries I do involve the penis. I believe this qualifies me as somewhat of an expert.
The frenulum of the penis is something that is difficult to describe to someone who is circumcised. When a circumcision is done, the frenulum is usually divided/detached. The frenulum is simply the bridge of skin from the underside of the penis just proximal to the glans (head) that attaches to the foreskin. As I am sure you know, this area has some of the highest concentration of nerve endings in the penis and is very sensitive. In fact, many men can reach climax just by placing a vibrator on this area. The problem I have with the reader's story is that he says that he bled profusely because he had an erection. The truth is that the amount of blood in this area remains relatively constant regardless of erection. The areteries for erection are deep inside the penis. There is, however, a frenular artery that, if torn, will bleed like crazy.
As another FYI, a "frenulum" is simply an attachment of one organ/tissue to another. Another example of a frenulum in your body is from the tongue to the floor of your mouth. Coincidentally, when I was in college, I was kissing this girl (with tongue!) and she was really going at it with aggression and somehow my tongue got caught and I slightly tore this area. My mouth instantly filled with blood and, obviously, so did hers. It was like I was vomiting blood into her mouth. That was rad.
P.S. I'm happy to offer my services as a consultant for all urological/dick questions that may come up in the mailbag or otherwise.
We may take you up on that, good sir.