Life
by J. Camm on March 7, 2012

So not for nothing but State Patty's Day sounds like a decent time. 

This past weekend, I went to visit some friends at Penn State for State Patty’s Day. Being from outside of Philadelphia, a ton of kids from my high school go to Penn State. So when I knew for sure that I was going up, I texted a girl I’d been trying to get with for a couple years, and she said the typical “Oh awesome, text me when you get up here” blah blah blah.
 

So a few weeks passed and I got up there on Friday. My boys and I started the early and kept going hard all throughout the night. I don’t remember much from that night but I know enough to know that I was in no shape to meet up with the girl that night. The next day/night went pretty much the same way, but I toned it down a bit in hopes of capitalizing on the drunken horniness that was sure to drape over State College in a few hours.

After exchanging a couple texts with the girl, and realizing that we were on opposite sides of campus, we understood meeting up conveniently was out of the question. (For those of you who haven’t been to State, trying to get from one side of campus to the other there is much easier said than done).

So after a couple more hours passed and my friends and I ended up at a house party somewhere. I started hitting it off with some random girl. A little bit later, she said she was ready to head back to her dorm, and invited me to come along. After hooking up in her bed for a little while with her roommate nowhere to be seen, we were about to take the next step. No sooner did I reach for my wallet to grab a condom, then did her door swing open and light switch on. As soon as I saw this I was sure that any shot of continuing to get with this girl was shot down by the 19-year-old drunken c*ckblock that had just walked through the door. I was momentarily dejected.

Just then, I turned around to see exactly what was going on, a sight better than anything I could have imagined stood before my eyes: In all of her drunken glory, the dime I’d been trying to hook-up with since high school was this chick’s f*cking roommate. With no more than hello exchanged, the girl had her mind made-up; she dropped her coat and hopped right into bed with her roommate and I. At first I was convinced this coincidence was too good to be true, but after alternating between making out with me and her roommate, things moved fluidly into a full-on threesome, and the rest of the time in bed is pretty much a blur.

After what I’ve decided was about 45 minutes later, the 2 of them passed out and I hustled back to meet up with my boys and brag about what happened. We drank for a little longer and eventually passed out around 5. I woke up the next morning to a text from the girl that read “text me when your back on spring break.” Long live the Irish, and long live State Patty’s Day.

Sometimes it pays to hook up with the lights on, is all I'm going to say about this next story. 

I go to a small Division III college. The college claims we have around 2500 undergrad, but there’s probably is only like 1300 if that. Needless to say, the girls here get old pretty fast, so when people have girls visit, all of us are pumped about it.

About 2 years ago, one of my bros has his girlfriend in town and some of her friends tagged along with her. Throughout the night I get pretty drunk and we all end up at the soccer house. My friend introduces me to everyone and I start chatting it up with one of his girlfriend’s friends. We start dancing and eventually start making out; I knew this could probably go further and so I decided to stick it out.

A couple hours later, after people are gone, I'm just chillin’ with these girls, my bro, and the soccer kids. Eventually I was able to get this girl away from her friends and into the basement where there was a comfortable white leather couch we could hook up on. We start making out again and as any guy does, I try to bring my d*ck into the equation but she whispers, “if you go down on me, then I'll blow you.” I sort of oblige and just start fingering her. Chick is super wet so I'm thinking to myself she’s really getting hot for me. All of a sudden just pushes me and starts to blow me. Which was nice.

Now I would like to say I went to pound town right then and there, but she refused because we just met. After we’re through hooking up she wants to go back to her friends, so I bounce back to my place.

As I'm walking back I call my friend, but he's passed out. So I roll back to my room (roommate no where to be found) and I notice that there’s a slight discoloration to my hands. I immediately run to the bathroom and, well, I didn't know whether to wash my hands or throw up. Since I’m pretty sh*tfaced, I just clean myself up. Then, as I’m undressing I notice that on my jeans there’s blood everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. There’s blood at the bottom on the jeans, on my back pockets, everywhere. I couldn't handle it all so I just went to bed.

The next day I go to the cafeteria with my friends and tell the story to everyone (I don't really have any shame). On the walk back a friend notices a stain on my jacket and makes a joke (the same jacket I wore the night before) and I immediately see again, more blood. I didn't think that the situation could get any worse, but 15 minutes later a picture on Facebook emerges of the white leather couch all covered in red, as well as a picture of my blood covered jeans, and both were tagged with my newly appointed nickname, B.H.S. (Bloody Hands Scott).

Click below to keep reading the rest of this week's stories.

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This next one is odd and heroic in the most unconventional way possible. In short: dude almost got raped. 

I spent last summer long boarding and drinking large amounts of beer. I did my best to try to stay out of a relationship. But this summer it seemed as if every urban chick was gunning for me. I also spent my time hanging with a black kid who wanted to learn how to skate. So i took him under my wing. He was kinda cool to hang with and he was always asking me questions. Like how to meet women and what should he do with the rest of his life.

Now this black kid I can’t tell you his real name so we’ll just call him “Mr. T.” Mr. T had one crazy f*cking hairstyle. The guy was rockin’ the Gumby fade. In the year 2010, this guy had a Gumby fade. Really go Google that sh*t, have a laugh then come back. Done? Okay. Good. We hung out for two days in a row. Friday we went out to a bar that he got us kicked out of because he was trolling some young ladies.

On Saturday we went to a house party that we got kicked out of because, yet again, Mr. T was trolling some girls. So on Sunday I was just gonna do some skating and hang around my place. Then I get the call that would change everything.

A girl whose name I will use, “Jazz” called me up. She asked if I wanted to hang out and that she got my number from my good friend Johan. Well, to be honest, he sold her my number for $8. I wanted to stay in but she offered to buy me a six-pack. So I let Jazz pick me up.

We went to a park and started to drink and talk. She said she had a crush on me and that she had always wanted to hang out. The only thing I could manage to say was “That’s Cool.” After we finished the six-pack I was in the mood for more booze. So I called up Mr. T. He came by with another six-pack. Mind you, I only think he came over because he knew there was a girl there.

Before we could drink the new six-pack the cops showed up. The cops told us that after 9 p.m. the park is closed and that we should leave. So we did just that. Then we drove to another park, this one closer to my place.

Mr. T and Jazz began to talk while I found a baseball mound. The two of them talked while I went on my way pretending to be Bret Hart. Yep even at age 26 I acted like I was the “Hitman.” (Camm’s note: Anyone have an idea just what the hell he means by that?) I looked back to see Mr. T running his hand along the inner thigh of Jazz.

I figured that Mr. T had Jazz in the bag and left them alone. Then trouble. The same cop who showed up at the last park showed up at this park. And boy was he pissed off.

He told us to get the f*ck out of the park. I jumped in Jazz’s car and Mr. T got in his. We sped off. I have no clue where Mr. T went but Jazz and I pulled up to the side of my building. Then the conversation that follows goes like this

Jazz: Yo, Tash!

Tash: Yeah?

Jazz: I need some d*ck asap.

Tash: I’m not really into you like that. What about Mr. T? He seemed to be really into you.

Jazz: Mr. T? Really? Did you see that n*gga’s haircut? Please. Let’s just jump in my backseat and do it.

Tash: Well I’m gonna have to say no, but thanks anyway.

Jazz: If you don’t do it, I’m gonna tell your friends that you are gay.

Tash: Hahaha, what are you talking about? I don’t have any friends anymore.

Then, I kid you not, she put me in a headlock. I was trying to exit her car from the passenger seat and she put me in a goddamn headlock. Jazz pulled me down and undid my pants. I went into panic mode. I began to fight but she had 40 pounds on me.

As it looked like she was going to eat my penis, I managed to drive my knee into her head not once, not twice, but three times. I pulled myself away and ran into my apartment. I locked my door and sat in the bed. I called a few people because I needed to talk to somebody, anybody, about what just happened.

The only person who responded was this girl Barrie and she was able to talk me down from the bad place I was in. I now knew what a great deal of women had been thru. If Jazz was hot I might have been down for it but to have her fight me like I was some person off the street freaked me out. I now no longer hang out alone with BBW’s.

That Jazz chick sounds like a bad b*tch. Bet she's a mean power bottom too. 

NEXT!

So I was dead asleep, and my phone kept ringing. After a few phone calls I finally woke up and answered one. I’ll I hear is “Dude, can you give me a ride to go f*ck this girl.” On the other end of the phone is a guy we'll now refer to as “Douche.” My answer to his is, of course “no,” because he has nothing set up for me, and the girl lives 45 minutes away.

Then it hits me. I tell him to ask her if she’s cool with an Eiffel Tower. Without hesitation he says sure and calls back almost immediately saying, “She said sure, no second questioning it.”

The trouble is, I still didn’t feel like getting out of bed for some skeeze. So I just tell him to hit up our other buddy (we'll call him “driver”) and say, “just tell him you’ll give him some gas money.”

Driver comes over, and says he doesn’t feel like doing it for gas money and to see if she'll f*ck him instead. He calls, she's hesitant. But eventually she agrees (I don’t think anyone had any doubt at this point). She's under the impression it's all 3 of us though. So I’m like “yeah lets do this, never 3 way'd a b*tch before.”

We get to her house and she takes no time getting down to business. But Douche starts acting like a giddy schoolgirl, making it weird. So I figure I’ll just wait, and get that perdy mouth, and tag it with my buddy Driver end to end. Meanwhile, it’s cold as f*ck because it’s the middle of winter and we’re in her attic so her family doesn’t hear us.

Long story short, I pound it out, quick and me and Driver are bailing. Douche wants to stay for round two. But just as were going out of the attic door, down the steps, Douche asks us to wait, and he rushes to catch up. All of a sudden he takes a header down the fucking steps. I’m talkin’ top to bottom as loud as possible. And her dad and grandma are home.

So we book out the back door. Only I realize still have my filled condom in my hand. So I left her dad a surprise on his truck’s windshield. As we’re pulling out, all the lights turn on and Douche, who still hasn’t caught up, comes bookin’ out of the house, jumps in the moving car and we get the f*ck out of there. Moral of the story: there’s no place for morals.

This first line of this last one really says it all…

This is the story of how I scientifically proved I am not gay.

Lets begin the story with it was a long weekend, I was on a road trip to another city, in a hotel blocks away from all the night life, and I was on a 6 month dry spell. Oh, and prior to going out on this night I drank 18 or so beers.

I exit the hotel with my 4 buddies (they drank about as much as I did) and after 3 blocks or so we got separated in our drunkenness. I then proceed to enter the hot new club in town looking to pickup almost anything with legs and a fluttering p*ssy.

At a distance, I see an old acquaintance and join his table. He introduces me to this girl (fat chick) and after 5 minutes her and I start making out and in exchange I get treated to half a bottle of Buchanan’s.

After about an hour, we decided to go back to her hotel (also at a walking distance) and to our surprise; her gay roommates were already there. I’m not just calling them gay, they were literally homosexuals. Anyway, there were 2 king beds in the room so I just took her to one and we went underneath the cover of the bed that was not being used. I wrap my Johnson and start doing the business. After a minute of banging this pig, I feel a hand groping my ass. IT WAS HER GAY FRIEND. Evidently this clown thought she was on top. When I realize that a guy was caressing my ass, my boner becomes a noner and I got really pissed and stormed off. And that’s how the night ended.

Of course the negative side of the story is that I got almost molested by a man and I semi-banged a fat chick. But I'm a “glass half full” kind of guy and I think of the positive, which is that I proved that I'm not gay and I didn’t totally banged a fat chick.

So a flaccid d*ck is now considered scientific evidence?

To submit your stories of hook ups and sexual mishaps, go here

J. Camm

About J. Camm...

J. Camm is the Managing Editor of BroBible. He is a graduate of the University of Miami thanks mostly in part to a world-class short-term memory. When not writing drivel on the Internet, J.Camm enjoys golf and the inexplicable satisfaction that comes with forgetting a person's name the exact instant he meets them.

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