Wow, My Date Sucked!


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How Did I End Up At This Gay Orgy?
by Craig B. (25, M, Redondo Beach, CA)

"Certainly the worst date of my life was the night I started out on a nice dinner date and ended up at some kind of cocaine-fueled, 6am-gay-basement-rape-party. Bear with me folks, it will all become clear in a moment.

I meet this girl online (bad start), and I pick her up for a nice, normal Italian dinner. Things go fine, I daresay even well. Being a fan of equality, I suggest she choose the second activity, and she volunteers that a friend of hers knows of a house party we can go to. I drive us to a sketchy house in an odd part of town where there’s a car parked on the lawn and a guy doing poppers in the front seat. Yes, as you can probably guess, this is where things start heading south.

Thirty minutes into the party, my date’s ex-boyfriend shows up. Sixty minutes in, they’re both drunk and making out. Ninety minute in, they’ve gone home together, and I’m left alone at this party, trying to salvage the evening by drinking lots and flirting with the one other cute girl there. Amazingly, twenty minutes later her ex-boyfriend shows up and they start making out and go home together. Yes, I’m really on fire tonight.

By this point I’m too sloshed from self-pity drinks to drive home, so I plop down on the couch in what has degenerated into a real dude-fest. But the dudes aren’t ready to slow down yet – it’s somebody’s birthday, and out come the weed and a bunch of lines of cocaine. Someone offers me a bong and I take one hit before passing out cold on the couch.

I wake up around dawn with the birthday boy standing over me, tugging on my shirt.

“Hey,” he says. “You need to come into this room for a second. It’s important.”

Too groggy to protest (or even understand what’s going on), I get up and obediently follow. After all, it’s not his fault - he’d been a pretty good host, actually, what with all the free beer and pot. But then he opens the door, and there they are: five guys, hooking up with each other on and around a bed.

All I can do is stare, dumbfounded. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, but I’m not, and even if I was I don’t think this would be my kind of party. That’s when the birthday boy grabs my shirt, starting trying to pull it off, and saying “Hey man, it’s cool. Wanna join in?” It was about this moment that I lost my shit.

I yanked my shirt out of the birthday boy’s hand, panickedly shoved him against the wall, and ran screaming from the apartment. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was actually screaming as I fled from the house, jumped in my car, and drove mostly drunk all the way home. Part way home, I realized I was shoeless, having left my Vans under the couch.

But there’s no way in hell I’m going back for them. I have a job, and Vans aren’t that expensive. And if any gay prince comes knocking on my door, looking for the person who left a glass sneaker as he fled from the ball… I swear to God I will throat-punch a mother f*cker."