In preparation for the weekend, we’ve compiled some of the darkest, seediest stories we could find to give you some inspiration on how to jam pack the next couple of days with experiences you're going to regret for the rest of your life.
NOT THE BRISTLY END
About a year ago, I was frantically looking through my ex-boyfriend’s friends on Facebook, trying to find out what he was up to, when I came across a guy so hot he’d make a Jalapeño feel ashamed. I decided to friend request him and, to my surprise, he messaged me back right away. I was quick to respond, telling him that we had met a while back (LIE) and the conversation started flowing. Around three messages in, he invited me over. I was so excited. I arrived at his place and we smoked some weed and ate some fried chicken. We didn’t speak much because I was intensely paranoid and on the verge of freaking out.
A little while later, he forced me into the bathroom, gaff taped the windows and door shut, and started running a bath. He forced me to get in it and, against my request to not get my newly blow-dried hair wet, he insisted on attempting to submerge my face in the eight inches of water. I got out of the bath and he made me get down on my knees, picking up a toothbrush as he did so. “IM GONNA SHOVE THIS UP YOUR ASS NOW” he said. I pleaded: “NOT THE BRISTLY END!” and then realized I didn’t want any end of the toothbrush up my ass. It was then that it dawned on me I was about to become a rape statistic, so I grabbed everything of mine I could see and ran out the door.
SPIT ROAST AND A FANTA
A friend and I were out in Reading, England a few years ago. We'd spent the night traipsing around all the douchey clubs trying to pick up girls, but just ended up getting more and more drunk on the street, not wanting to pay the extortionate entrance fees to listen to Flo Rida for the rest of the night. After a few hours, we figured it was time to stop trying. We desperately needed to sober up and the chicken shop looked much more appealing than any club by that point. We both got a wings combo and sat down to start eating, before we noticed this girl that my friend knew from middle school. She came and sat next to us—almost as drunk as we were—and instantly started acting excessively flirty and sexual.
Suddenly she grabbed my dick and started rubbing it, then stuck her leg under the table and lodged her foot on my friend's crotch. It was like one of those "real-life sex" stories in FHM, only we were in a chicken shop at 3 AM in Reading. Anyway, she suggested we all go "check out" the disabled bathroom, so we did, and my friend and I ended up spit-roasting her on the floor, surrounded by used toilet rolls and old, greasy chicken boxes. She asked us both to cum in her mouth, swallowed it, asked us to buy her a Fanta, then left. We try not to talk about it anymore.
EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF
There were a group of guys at my college who used to go on annual trips to Magaluf and were generally the epitome of despicable. Last year, one of them went to the house of a girl who’d been sending him saucy texts while her boyfriend was away. For whatever reason, he chose to invite nine of his friends to share the booty-call action.
Long story short, they all ended up naked in her room—a sweaty bro-fest with one girl being taken from whichever way possible. Said girl obviously wasn’t realistically going to bother interacting with ten dicks, so seven guys were left to stand around and jerk off on their own. One was my friend Jack, and after standing around touching himself for longer than anyone ever should in a room full of friends, he realized how weird and awkward the scenario was and went home and masturbated alone like a normal person.
THE LEGION OF DOOM
I was drunk as hell in this big, horrible electro tent at a festival when a girl I’d been checking out came up and drunkenly started making out with me, guiding my hand into her high-waisted shorts. I was happy with that, but then she turned to my friend and started making out with him, too, while still thrusting up against me. After a while, I realized she’d pulled his hand down into her shorts as well and, as things got more heated, I brushed against his fingers, sending a shiver up my spine. I was freaked out, obviously, but, in my drunken stupour, all I could think was, Damn, why should I leave? I was here first.
Anyway, the whole thing carried on for way longer than it should have, until our fingers were almost entirely interlocked. My friend and I headed back to the campsite together, the shame emanating off us in a seedy smog of regret, and went to sleep in our flooded tents, feeling strange and lost. Unfortunately, it turned out a LOT of people saw what had happened, and we’ve been nicknamed "The Legion of Doom" ever since.