Stories

    Stories

    University of Georgia

      0
      The Time I Almost Blinded My Best Friend
      My sophomore year I lived across from our college neighborhood pool. We drank many, many beers there over the years. One day was particularly different.
      There were about 50 people at the pool as I remember it. There were three sections of the pool, all oval shaped. I was in the water drinking a beer while a bunch of people sat on the side with their feet dangling in the water, talking and laughing. After screaming at the girl with the iPhone speakers to play “Freebird” for about twenty minutes (and she never did), I saw that people thought it would be a great idea to chuck their empty beer cans at a trashcan over near the fence. Cool! I’m drunk. I have plenty of beer cans to do that with.
      The trashcan is about 25 feet behind the edge of the pool, so when I was facing it from the water it meant I had to throw the cans over the people sitting on the side. Logistically this would have been easy for a sober person. For someone who has been drinking Natty Light since 10 AM on a Tuesday it was not. I crushed the beer can and planted my feet in the pool to give it a toss.
      Now, I am a pretty big guy. 6 feet tall and 215 lbs – and I certainly don’t throw like a pussy. I was fat when I was a kid so what I lacked in running I could make up for with arm strength. I took a huge crow hop and let that f*cking can FLY. I timed my release a little late and it came out like a Randy Johnson fastball. All I heard was WHAP and focused my vision to see my friend holding his face. He released his hands from his face. Blood starting coming down from his face along with broken glass. I had shattered his Ray Bans.
      “WHAT THE F*CK, JAKE?!” was the last thing I remember before we rushed back to my house to  see that by some MIRACLE there was only glass around his eye and not in it. We put a bandaid on it and went back to the pool to keep drinking. I woke up naked on my floor the next day to find out that we didn’t do that great of a job of cleaning up because there was blood literally everywhere in the house. At least he wasn’t blind. Small victories.
      I still haven’t bought him a new pair of Ray Bans. F*ck you, Grayson.
       (25)

      Hofstra University

        1

        Since freshman year, I would randomly hook up with this guy who lived with one of my good friends.

        It was just a thing we would do at the beginning of the school year once or twice and then act like we didn’t know each other in public.  I knew he was a total d-bag, but there was just something so intriguing about him.  Sophomore year, we both get home from a night out, he Facebook messages me to hook up, because at that time we didn’t have each other’s number.  So anyway, he comes over, I was reluctant to even go down on him but he did his thing first so I felt obligated to return the favor.  As soon as he finished (in my mouth) I ran into the bathroom to spit it out.  I know, spitters are quitters but I was younger and less experienced in these situations.  While I was in the bathroom, he ran out of my room.  He just left without even saying bye or anything.

        Dick move.

        The story gets better when I realize that he left his backpack in my room.  10 minutes later I get a Facebook message, “I left my bag in your room and I really need it can you leave it outside.”  I was so mad.  I told him he could come and get it out of the garbage but he couldn’t even get into my building so he begged me to just put it out the window.  I only lived on the first floor so I reluctantly obliged, but I wasn’t going to let him off that easily.  I dumped every single item out of his backpack onto the wet ground and then threw his bag outside.  Then I sat by the windowsill with my roommate and watched him pick up all of his stuff.  He and I still laugh about this incident when we randomly hook up. “Did you really have to rip off the back of my book?” Yes, yes I did.

         (103)

        Hofstra University

          2

          I had this really crazy ex-boyfriend who would randomly break-up with me and then make up with me the next day.  So this one particular day we were broken up and my gay best friend and I decided to have a crazy night out together.  It was going well, I was getting free drinks from the bartender and having a great time until this girl tells me that my ex invited her to pregame at his house that night.  Drunk me had a mini-breakdown but I pulled myself together and had a few more drinks.

          I’m not a gal that really likes the feeling of being super drunk and all the lights and loud music in the bar were making me really nauseous.  I stumbled out to the patio alone to get some fresh air.    A few minutes later my GBF comes out screaming, making sure that I was okay since I was upset before.  I explained that I was fine and I was just feeling dizzy and needed some air.   Apparently, a shady guy standing next to me then said, “Dude, just give her some coke.”  My GBF replied, “like the soda or the drug?” And then this shady man supposedly pulled out a syringe and tried to inject me with some brown liquid.  My friend then shouts, “RUN!!” and the two of us book it out of the bar, hysterically crying the entire way home.  He even tried calling the bar to report this shady, strange man with the syringe but had no luck getting through.  We were both so drunk that neither of us can recall what actually happened that night, but I definitely learned to take it easy on the jager bombs.

           (290)

           University of North Georgia

            1

            “Was at a party and it was one of those nights that I couldn’t get drunk.

            So I found a reasonable room to watch Netflix in.

            It was about 3 AM when my best friend comes storming in the room drunk as f**k. She apparently had become best friends with this 6’5 huge ass ginger that lived next door and thought it would be a brilliant idea to go ding dong ditch him. So she drags me across the yard with both of us only wearing t-shirts and panties while shes yelling that we “have to make fun memories!”

            We get to the door and she thought it would be a better idea to open it and run away. Next thing I know, we managed to really piss off the ginger guy, and he started chasing us in only his boxers. He’s wasted, and angry, and screaming at us. We lock ourselves in a room and he breaks it down, claiming that we’ve robbed his house (stealing food out of his fridge) and calling us “f*****g sluts”.

            I’m hiding behind the door, my drunk friend is recording him screaming, and this poor random guy who was in the room is acting asleep while the ginger is threatening to beat the “living hell” out of him… (poor guy wasn’t even involved) After a good five minutes of him screaming at us, he goes back home.

            Think we learned out lessons.”

             (204)

            Northern Illinois University

              0

              “My first semester at Northern, I hooked up with this guy I met at a party with one of my friends.

              She insisted that I talk to him and go home with him, and I didn’t want to walk back to my dorm, so I said f**k it, and went home with him. He didn’t know I was a virgin. When we got back to his apartment, he started to feel me up… and as I went to grab his dick, I couldn’t find it.

              I COULDN’T F*****G FIND IT.

              I swear to god it was the size of two pinkies.

              Needless to say, nothing happened. So he wouldn’t let me walk home, so I slept on his futon. He kept texting me for a week or two after that night, and I found out he was engaged.

              ENGAGED. 


              After forgetting about the whole thing, I ended up heading back out to Northern over the summer to see a friend. We pulled up to the guys apartment and I immediately freaked the f**k out. He had moved out, and my friend’s boyfriend had been living there. To make it even better, her boyfriend’s neighbors knew the guy too. 


              Most awkward evening of my life. Never going back to Hillcrest.”

               (128)

              Syracuse University

                0

                So, around October of my freshman year, my roommates and I went on a university provided trip to Target.

                On the way back, a massive storm rolled in and had gotten caught right in the middle of it on our walk back to our dorms. When we finally got back, we were completely drenched and absolutely miserable.

                This is where it gets weird.

                When we unlocked our door and walked in, we found our Puerto Rican floor mates in the middle of a full on 10+ person orgy in our common room. People were on the floor, bent over our couch, on the table, pressed up against walls… everywhere you looked there was just sex. Various articles of clothing were also scattered everywhere, along with dozens of beer cans and liquor bottles, most of them unfortunately ours that we bought a few days earlier.

                Everyone was in a different state of undress as well, from completely nude to mostly clothed. They all instantly looked up at us with expressions of shock, horror, and just outright drunken embarrassment. Although we were completely dumbfounded by what we saw, we were so tired and miserable that we dropped our shit from Target and walked over several “couples” into our respective bedrooms to change.

                By the time we came back out just a minute or two later everyone was gone without a trace, other than the mess of empty alcohol containers. To this day we have never spoken to our floor mates about it, we have never seen anyone else who was involved, and we don’t have any idea how they got into our room in the first place.

                 (461)

                University of Maine, Orono

                  0

                  This happened at the end of my freshman year. When I was 19/20 years old, I was pretty ridiculous, as evidenced by this story.

                  I woke up on a Saturday really early morning. I had crashed on the floor at a house party, at the house of someone I didn’t know. I had a headache and didn’t remember a lot of the previous night. I moved my head and realized I had been sleeping in between some chick’s thighs. Literally, most of my head was on one of her thighs, and I was staring right at her twat. There was this sort of odor around us that suggested pretty well what had happened. I got up and stole a shirt she was using as a pillow from under her head. She stirred but didn’t wake up and I left.

                  Later on that day, I really regretted not remembering hooking up with her, so I made it my mission to compensate by banging someone while I was mentally cognizant. So I made a ton of booty calls that afternoon; some of these were girls I’d banged in the past, some were friends, a couple were girls I’d been keeping around recently. One of the latter two girls said she wasn’t doing much and would come over after she finished her biology homework. I’ll call her Sandra.

                  So we f****d on my bed, in my dorm room later on that evening. Here’s the thing, Sandra was a freak; she brought a bottle of wine over and proceeded to drink from it while f*****g me. Because she wanted to do it like that, I made her sit on top. I bounced her on top of me, watching her slurp from this wine bottle, moaning in to the bottle and creating a sex-version of that whistling sound you get from blowing in to the neck of a bottle. It was really funny when she came. She was chugging the wine when it happened, I guess to maximize the experience, and it flew out of her mouth, smashed on my floor and she spewed all this wine on to my face and my pillow. Then I came. I was laughing while I came.

                  I would have normally been pissed off about the wine bottle, but in this case it was just hilarious, all this wine all over my bed and the fact that it happened during sex. And she cleaned it up. So it was fine.

                   (50)

                   SUNY Binghamton University

                    0

                    I was so drunk that I got locked out of a frat house and I figured the best way to get their attention was to punch a whole through their window.

                    It worked.

                    After painting their walls with my blood, I went to my friends house to sober up and bandage up.

                    Then, I realized one of my friends wasn’t there.

                    So, I took it upon myself to sneak out and save her from being lost downtown.

                    She actually was still at the party, and in reality, I was the lost one.

                    Eventually I was discovered wandering the streets by a search party of my friends who took me back to campus.

                    I learned all about my night via pictures and videos… Oh and the chunk missing from my thumb? I have a scar on it in the shape of a mouth that smiles at me every day.

                     (64)

                    Eastern Illinois

                      0

                      Let’s start this off by saying I’m that golden child. I never do anything wrong and I was, by far, my parent’s favorite son.

                      I went into college with the mindset that I was never going to drink.

                      Well… That changed real quick.

                      Towards the end of my first semester, one of my friends, we’ll call him “Josh”, was taking these two smoking hot chicks with him to a party with a guy we’ll call “Nick”.

                      Josh told me that if I wanted to go, I had to leave with them right now because they had a DD waiting for them. Obviously I told him to wait a second so I could go and change into some clothes.

                      I knew they’d been pregaming, but I hadn’t because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do that night. So, while I was in my room, I take an enormous pull of rum (Probably close to 3 or 4 shots) and fill up my flask. 

                      So, on the way there, I end up sitting bitch middle in the backseat. Nick was shotgun, while Josh and one of the girls sat on either side of me.

                      Where was the other girl?

                      She was, of course, laying across the 3 of us in the back seat. And, being the huge virgin that I was at the time, couldn’t help but think I had this SMOKING HOT CHICK’S ASS on my lap. I mean, she was wayyy out of my league. but I made it my mission that tonight, I’d f**k this chick.

                      Or at the very least, get some head.

                      By the time we get to the party I’m still sober and think to myself that I couldn’t possibly do this sober. So I drank some more out of my flask and drink some Jungle Juice (I hadn’t quite got the whole beer thing down by this point, but don’t worry I do now).

                      So after a little time went by, I got  a lot drunker. I see Holly standing alone at a table on her phone.

                      So, naturally, I walk up to her. 

                      I started off with some, “How are you?,” bullshit and then said, “You’re Holly right?”

                      And she said, “How’d you know that?”  

                      Then I told her I was the one she was laying on top of.  

                      We talked for a good 20-30 minutes and I thought we hit it off pretty good.  Then she said she had to go to the bathroom.  So while she was doing her thing, Nick comes up to me and says something to the effect of: “Dude, it’s going real good with you and her, why don’t you ask if she wants to go upstairs? Her friend says she’s real easy.”

                      Regretfully, I ignored Nick. She came back and I ended up chugging the rest of my JJ, (keep in mind I’ve had 6-7 cups of it by now and my flask was empty.)

                      So I thought I’d be a nice guy and ask if Holly wanted any too. She declined, explaining that she was way too drunk. So I offered to get her some water.

                      So I get the drinks and we start talking again and suddenly this guy starts to text her. Turns out it was her recent ex boyfriend, or some shit like that. She asks me if she should reply, and I say that I’m not going to tell her what to do, and I’m not going to mess with it.

                      (Yeah, dumbfuck, you shoulda said no)

                      Things kinda of dissolve from memory after this.  

                      Next thing I remember is that we all headed back to the dorms to order Jimmy Johns. Were chilling in Josh’s room and suddenly, I feel the urge to puke.

                      So I run to the bathroom and I yak the better part of the night out into the toilet.  

                      After I finished puking, I walk out of the bathroom, past two cops (Amazingly), and back to my own dorm to tidy myself up before seeing if I could get Holly to come back to my room with me.  

                      And right as I’m walking to my door, I feel the urge to puke again.

                      And I mean, really puking.  And I, for some reason, thought it’d be a good idea to turn the lights off and lock the door shut before all of that. 

                      Wake up a few hours later with my head in the trash can, bile covering my face.  

                      Then I drunkenly decide to crawl into my bed, puke covering me, and fall back asleep.

                      Was disappointing to see myself wake up with my bed also covered in vomit too.   

                      Moral of the story?

                      Handle you’re f*****g liquor, and you can get f*****g laid.

                       (64)

                      Dennis Tominsky

                        7

                        “Okay, so this happened a few years ago when I was an out of control college freshman. I’m not submitting the photograph mentioned in the story for obvious reasons (you’ll see). Everybody’s name was changed.

                        I’ve always had a thing for legs. When I was around fourteen, I distinctly remember reading a copy of my dad’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and gawking at the smooth, tanned legs of the woman on the cover; her body brightened by her orange swimsuit, her feet curling together in the foreground of the picture on the sand of the beach where she sat. She looked at you with the coy, jaded look women are meant to have in these photos. I wondered, at that time, if I would ever be this close to a stunning female’s legs in real life and if she would ever look at me like so.
                        Let’s fast-forward five years.
                        My buddy Jason and I sat on the porch outside a house party in November, watching the partygoers exit. We were drinking scotch on ice and I was numerous sheets to the wind. Jason burped.
                        “I’m gonna flunk that test tomorrow,” he said.
                        I watched the legs of the girls wandering outside. A few of them stumbled on the doorstep like drunken high-schoolers (which was basically what we still were, as freshmen ages 18 to 19), some of them were helped out by their equally smashed, wonky boyfriends (or guys who wished they were their boyfriends), and others exited smoothly and without any help, thank you. Many wore those tight black silk pairs of pants that are a continuing fad among the hip middle class female set. But a surprising number wore skirts—short skirts—although it was a cold night.
                        A girl in a flannel Irish skirt walked out. Her legs were amazing. They were thick and curvy at the top, but nice and lean as you moved down to her feet. She wore black shoes that looked like particularly warm slippers. She wore a backwards Red Sox cap that looked like it didn’t belong to her. I wondered why she was dressed like this was the original Saint Patrick’s Day. She had red hair and freckles and was chatting with two other girls, didn’t seem too drunk.
                        “Look at the legs on that one,” Jason said.
                        Jason had no tact whatsoever. They probably heard him. But I was secretly surprised someone else cared about legs as much as I did.
                        “Yeah,” I responded, “They’re really something.”
                        In a moment of utter cockiness, I called to her.
                        “Ms. O’ Brien! What’s your name?”
                        She and her friends looked toward me, perplexed.
                        “Janis…” she said eventually. “Hi.”
                        I raised my beer.
                        “Great to make your acquaintance.”
                        “Yeah,” she said, sort of smiling, “Same.”
                        “You ladies get home safe,” I said.
                        I can sound like a dick if I want, like a smooth operator if I want, like a drunk teenager if I want (which is being myself), or like a cop, if I really want. Janis and her friends trotted off to a car at the far end of the driveway and I felt proud of sounding like all four to her. I knew at that point that somehow, some way, I would bang Janis before the year was up.

                        During most of the fall semester I was pretty diligent about going to classes and studying, I was kind of serious about not smoking as much pot as I had in high school and not getting arrested for it as I had once. But gradually that all went out the window because the school I go to (I’m not going to name it. It’s somewhere in the Midwest), is one of the hardest partying institutions in the country. By the end of October I was crashing my bike in to the side of the student lounge because I was drunk and getting written up by the campus cops for playing beer pong outside, in the parking lot, with four other people. I was/am ridiculous.

                        One of the people I played beer pong with that night was none other than Janis. We first hooked up that October night. I felt her boobs and made out with her against the brick wall of Dodson Hall. She had been a Catholic school girl; that explained the uniform.
                        At one point she pulled away and said, “I like you…”
                        “You’re not too bad yourself,” I said, “I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again, but you’re not too bad.”
                        I’d given this line many times before. The first time had been perhaps three years before in high school, around the time I’d trained myself to stop fearing girls. Janis looked vaguely disappointed after she heard it. Her freckles gleamed out of the darkness in the corner of the building we were scrunched up against and made her look lonely. I kissed her again and said goodnight and left.

                        The next time we met was in December. I saw her in the student lounge after our Economics class and we ended up sitting and eating lunch together. We shot the shit for a while, and then she asked if I wanted to take a walk with her. I was like, “Sure.” We walked around in the cold over to her dorm and I led her to her door. As soon as we got to her door, she pulled me in and we kissed again.
                        Next thing you know, I’m on the top of her bunk bed, naked except for my boxers and she’s naked except for the insane tan lines on her skin left by her bra and panties, even in winter. I’m doing a rotating pattern of sucking on the nipples of her tits while she runs her fingers through my hair like I’m a f*****g pet dog. She cooed and moved her head back and forth, as if nodding. She whispered to me to go down on her.
                        This was something I’d never done. I had an idea of how to; I’d watched pornos. I just thought it was kind of gross. But Janis asked me to and she sounded so f*****g sexy saying it I almost came on her leg. I peered upside down between her tits at the ridge of brown pubic hair that my tongue had been commissioned to climb and claim. I let my tongue droop out while I moved down her belly– I noticed she had a little bit of pudge coming in– and started licking her steep, odorous vagina. I knew that you were supposed to get right in there and also finger her. So I slipped a couple of fingers in after tongue-soloing it for a few minutes.
                        She was mostly shaved aside from the tuft of hair that tangled up on my tongue whenever I licked it over. I felt several stray pubes on the inside of my tongue, so I switched to using only the tip of my tongue, veering from left to right over her shaved prickles and the bulging pink mass swelling under her folds. She grabbed the nape of my neck and began pulling my hair. She squirmed her legs around and every time her thighs brushed against my cheeks and my ears I got a little more of a boner. Janis started making these sounds you’re supposed to make in church. If I spelled it out, it would look like any other female pleasure sound. Let’s say it sounded like she’d just realized that Jesus himself was magically eating her pussy. I kept fingering/licking her and her thighs jerked upward inch by inch, rotating her vagina further in to my mouth. Her pubes tickled my nose and mouth. At one point her lower body tilted upward enough so that her clit sponged over my nose and my nos e bumped in to my fingers, which were circling around inside of her. She caught her breath and kept on with her tenor yelps. She didn’t taste bad. She tasted sour and tangy. Like sex-lemonade. I suddenly realized; “This is great. I love eating pussy. The End.”
                        I felt my phone buzz. (My leg was on it). I drew my face away and a string of gooey wetness pulled away with me. I saw then that I was looking at this pink, monstrous, excited wilderness, inside of which my fingers were helplessly closed. I kept swirling my fingers around and looked at the text message with my free hand. It was my friend asking if we were meeting in McDougal’s at noon. Shit, I was supposed to meet James at McDougals, where he works. (McDougals is a place where they don’t give a shit how old you are if you know someone who works there. I got completely loaded there time and time again.) I propped my hand against her inner thigh and Janis did not even try to move away. I quickly punched in, Nope, can’t do it. I paused, thinking, and punched in; I’m eating pussy. I set my phone down and saw that Janis was staring down at me with the same expression as when she gets a question wrong in class, except redder.
                        She said “Dennis…get off your phone. Stay with me.”
                        I just looked at her for a second and then dove back in to her muff. She was very slick against my tongue; it felt like my tongue would slip on her vagina and break something. Whatever the fluids are that make a girl’s vagina wet were getting in my nose by now. She slid both hands over my shoulders. She hyperventilated. Now she was more determined to make me happy. I appreciated her tenacity. I pulled back a second time just to see what her pussy now looked like. It was open enough, her folds exposed and wet enough, for my tongue to touch no skin at all. I rubbed my fingers up and down her clit vertically and as soon as they were back down at the bottom, I swiped my tongue back on to her. She shut her legs around my head. Everything that entered my ear-drums—her hyperventilating church-noises, the rustling of sheets, the hum of the air in her room, the smacking of my tongue against her clitoris, the buzz of my phone as James responded—was sucked away and all I felt was sm ooth, dense skin. Her thighs. Clamped around my head.
                        (Were these magazine cover legs? Was I close enough?)
                        She released her clamp of destiny. I heard everything again.
                        Janis moaned very loudly three times and did the most perfect goddam thing ever– she fumbled a hand on to my forehead and cocked my head back so I could look at her face while her thighs bounced off my shoulders. She held my head like that for just a few seconds– long enough for me to get one of my brilliant, deranged ideas. I grabbed my iPhone from beside her leg, raised it so my arm bent around her leg, pressed the camera app and snapped a picture of her. Her head was cocked back, her mouth formed a jagged O, her tits jangled on either corner–they were bouncy, future soccer mom tits– and her very Irish dimples had a staring contest with me, as if to say, ‘Are ye having as blarney of a time as Janis, bogle??’ That was what the picture looked like.

                        I let the phone fall on her sheets. I reached up and touched Janis’ cheek with one hand, as if to say I was also a strong, sentimental lover. She let me hold the side of her face for a few seconds. Then she smacked my hand away and completely changed tempo.
                        She screamed, “F**k you, Dennis, f**k you!” I tried to look confused and said; “What??”
                        “Take your f*****g phone away from me, f**k you, Oh My God, I thought I could trust you, Oh my God, what is wrong with me…” She hit me with her pillow. For a while I thought it was a game she was playing and was really saying she wanted to f**k me, but when she threw my phone across the room I got the actual drift. I grabbed my phone and told her, okay, I guess I misread your signals, wow, way to tell a dude you hate him. She yelled at me f**k you again as I opened her door and bolted out.

                        For a while, I worried that my phone was broken, but guess what?? It isn’t! I still have those pictures of Janis or rather Janis’ tits, nape and chin. I’ve sent it to all my best buds. I sort of wish I had the cell number of everybody who’s ever hooked up with Janis so I could send it to them. I look at the photo and think it’s kind of masterful, sort of like something Robert Mapplethorpe would have done if he were straight and ate pussy. It looks exactly like the type of photo you would find in Playboy or something more hardcore. Or even certain Victoria’s Secret ads. Or maybe even a really pornographic version of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Which prompted me to search around the house for that original swimsuit edition magazine. I wanted to relive the feeling of being fourteen and not knowing what this mysterious thing was in front of me, and having not experienced it myself, so directly. But I got tired and couldn’t find it. So I’m stuck with this story, and with the photograph, and there’s no going back in time.” – Dennis Tominsky

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