What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on? That time when you got too drunk? Maybe it was the time you got ghosted or the date you were catfished on. Well take that fateful date and multiply the OMFG factor by 1000, because these terrifying date horror stories are sure to make your blood curdle this Halloween.
Date Horror Story #1: The Fate Of The Follow-Through Fart
I’m sitting at dinner with a girl who I’m on a date with from Tinder. Let’s call her Mary.
So we meet up to have a coffee and then as it’s around 6.30pm-ish, we head out to get some dinner. Seafood is the place we pick – and since it’s not yet 7 and we’re around Shoreditch, London – most places are fairly quiet.
We are sitting chit chatting and getting to know each other – all the usual things to be expected from a first date.
I have a good ‘run’ of 5 minutes where I really get her laughing. We’re one of only 4 people (another couple) in the restaurant and the music they play is relatively low so you can pretty much hear everything everyone is saying.
She let’s out a loud giggle as we’re discussing the relative merits of shark versus cod and then descending into making ‘great white’ jokes…
I stopped talking immediately.
The silence reverberated around the restaurant. Mary sat frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.
She had accidentally farted.
However. The squelch also sounded dangerously like a ‘follow-through’ type fart.
At this point I can’t help it. I’m shocked but also in hysterics and start laughing out loud. She is going bright red and I’m doing my best to reel it in. I am wondering if this pretty girl has soiled her pants just slightly.
I think I could have perhaps handled the wet fart. We hadn’t actually ordered food yet. Mortified, she excused herself to the ladies room almost instantly.
Then things got even worse.
Mary scuttled to the bathroom rapidly. As she got up, there came a horrendous smell that wafted over to my nose and hit me like a sledgehammer.
It was diabolical. Like we’d already had the seafood, desert and then washed it down with a bottle of wine and licorice. The smell was nauseatingly spectacular.
At this stage our ‘company’ had noticed something was amiss. And I knew that the ‘smell’ would be upon them soon as well. I went from laughter to lucidity to do what needed to be done.
I stood up, left, ‘unmatched her’ from Tinder, deleted her phone number, blocked her on Whatsapp and deleted our chat entirely.
Then I immediately told all my mates 🙂 Oh what an amazing night.
Thank you Mary! 😉
Date Horror Story #2: First Date Puking Karma
I was in Bali recently. I had a guy puke in my bathroom then a week later I ended up puking in another guy’s bathroom. Full circle of puking on first dates. I call it karma for laughing at the first guy. My friends call it hilarious.
I went on a date with a Swedish doctor in Ubud. There’s this thing called ‘Bali Belly’ and the doctor suddenly said he wasn’t feeling well and locked himself in my bathroom. He was hurling for a good 30 minutes. It was so loud and obnoxious. I really wanted him to leave but he had decided to stay the night, so I had to wake up next to him. Ew.
He ended up coming to meet me in another city a few weeks later (I thought he was coming there with friends but it turns out he just came to see me). He was hot, but turned out to be really annoying; very nice but didn’t get social cues. Including not throwing up with strangers.
Then karma caught up with me when I went on a date with this German dude. Me and German dude had been chatting for about a week before he went to Lovina, which was about 3 hours away from us. So I talked my friend into going there with me, because he was paying for hotel and whatnot. When we met him, he had a British accent was buying bottles and bottles of wine for me, my friend, his friend and himself.
Then we ended up going back to his room and I had a TERRIBLE headache. I really tried trooping through this headache, but I was dying inside. I just went to his bathroom, puked it out and went back to his bed and slept. He got me ibuprofen, water, the works – which was sweet. We ended up meeting up again later in Uluwatu to have a normal date, so I guess I didn’t make an awful impression. The hook up was really bad though.
– Tinder Queen
Date Horror Story #3: “That’s MY pussy!”
I’ve got this one.
I had a relationship of convenience with Colleen, an unspeakably cute Irish girl. She worked in HR for a client of mine, and we met when the client decided they needed to internally staff a position to support a project I’d done for them. We hit it off, and rapidly became each other’s number one call when carnal desires reared their head.
When she called me, I was delighted. That shifted a bit as she asked for a favor. Her sister was staying with her for a bit, and could I take her out for the evening? I was hesitant. I remembered her sister – short spiky flaming red hair (a plus), rail-thin, angry, strident (not plusses), wicked-smart (super plus). Colleen explained that she’d really changed a lot since I’d seen her a few years ago, and that I wouldn’t be disappointed, and that if I were, she’d make it up to me.
OK, I’m in.
When I rang the doorbell, I didn’t recognize Sheila at first. The red hair was there, but wow, she had changed. Generous curves, a vast bosom, the spiked do gone and shoulder length curls replacing it… it’s like I was seeing a totally different woman. And she was super friendly, and delighted to see me. Big hug, quick kiss, grabbed her purse and off we went.
Dinner, drinks, a walk around the park, lots of very entertaining conversation, some pretty serious flirting. And I learned that she’d discovered a few years back that she was hyperthyroid, and had a couple of other glandular disorders as a result, and that with treatment, she was now in fact very different. I was delighted.
Eventually, she slipped into my lap, kissed me, and said “Let’s go back to the apartment.”
Shortly, we were in the living room, she’d dropped my pants to the floor and pushed me down on the couch, and pulled her dress off and straddled me, and was telling me in pretty explicit terms exactly how she wanted the rest of the night to go. As she was kissing me, hard, for the first time, there was an explosion of drywall and wood as the front door shattered.
A short, stocky, very angry woman stood in the debris, breathing hard. She saw us, pointed at Sheila and screamed something unintelligible, then broke a bar stool and using a leg from it, ran at us, knocking Shelia off me, and alternating beating the two of us with it, yelling “That’s MY pussy! Keep the fuck away from her!”
I’m trying to stand up, get the stool leg away from her, protect Sheila and navigate with my pants around my ankles all at the same time. Just about the time I’d grabbed her, and was wrestling for control of the stick, four police officers burst through the door with guns drawn.
Now, picture this: naked crying woman cowering in the corner. Angry fully clothed woman fighting with a half-naked man. What’s your immediate conclusion, officer?
Yeah. Good times.
Eventually, it was all sorted out. There was no happy ending. Sheila was back in town because she was on parole from an embezzlement charge. She’d met Grace, the short angry woman, in prison, and they’d become an item. Grace was on parole for second degree manslaughter, pled down from murder. Her second trip through the system. Grace had been trying to get back with Sheila, Sheila wasn’t feeling the love. Grace had followed us all night, and beat up the doorman to find out which apartment we were headed for. The doorman called the police, explaining their seemingly rapid arrival.
I was released, but both Grace and Sheila went away with the officers, heading back to prison for various parole violations. And Colleen? She didn’t speak to me for months over returning home to crime scene tape, a completely missing front door, and a wrecked living room…
Date Horror Story #4: Dick Sick
For months, I would get with my housemate’s hot brother if he’d visit or if I went to stay at hers. So when he moved to London, we finally went on a date. I was super nervous, so I had some Dutch courage before… Maybe a bit too much, then carried on drinking once I met up with him. I don’t remember going back to his at all but just remember he was doing his thang in my mouth and I knew I was about to vomit, but didn’t want to ruin his moment. I was holding it all in my mouth, but so much vomit came up that it just exploded everywhere. Then he passed me the cup where I continued to vomit after I had covered his penis with sick. Yum.
Date Horror Story #5: “It’s all on me”
The guy I was talking to seemed nice enough. He’d graduated from my university a couple years earlier and had found a job in the city, so he’d stuck around.
We were chatting about politics (which I studied) and seemed to agree on a lot, so I was expecting a certain kind of personality when we met.
He asked me out for that weekend and kept bragging about how much money he was going to spend. “You don’t have to pay for anything, feel free to order cocktails”, “it’s a posh Italian place, really nice” etc. It seemed a bit weird to me, but we’d been talking about how I was finding it hard to get a job, so I thought he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t worried about the bill.
When we met up, he was thrilled to inform me that we were going to Pizza Express.
For those of you that don’t live in the UK, Pizza Express is a chain. More expensive than Domino’s, sure, but I wouldn’t call it a “posh Italian place”. It seemed odd that he would brag about this, but he was friendly and he’d said he was paying. If he’d wanted value meals from Tesco, I’d have been fine.
We were seated and he proceeded to tell me about his day at work – throwing around six figure sums of money and telling me about asshole clients. About 20 minutes in, he finally asked about my day. I replied, and he found a way to talk about money again.
We ordered, and I got water. I don’t really drink much soda and the serving sizes at this place are fairly large, so I figured I didn’t need the calories anyway. He commented on my choice, reminding me that he was paying, and insisted that I order a drink.
I’m quite sensitive to alcohol, and the medication I was on at the time made that even worse, so I didn’t want anything, not wanting to fall into the harbour on my way home. I tried to explain this, but he didn’t hear me in his loud attempt to summon our waitress. He ordered me the “pink vodka thing”, and winked. She gave me the most pitying look I’ve ever received from a stranger, and asked for my ID.
I quickly told her I didn’t have it on me, and she said she’d bring me a non-alcoholic drink if I preferred.
He interrupted, pulled out his ID and said the drinks were all for him. When she explained that she couldn’t risk getting fired, he grumbled and insisted she still bring his drink. When she left, he stage whispered that he’d share.
I was getting ready to find an excuse to leave, but the food arrived and he started talking about silly stuff he did as a kid. It was a much more pleasant topic, and I figured he was embarrassed about how he’d acted earlier, so I decided I could get to the end of the night.
That lasted about ten seconds, then came the worst of it.
“So you’re super liberal.”
“I wouldn’t say super, but yeah I tend to side with more progressive social issues.”
He then explained his theory that it’s easier to get a liberal in bed, but conservatives have dirtier sex…
As this was going on his hand slid under the table and onto my leg.
Finally having had enough, I told him off and grabbed my things.
He reminded me who was paying for the food, and told me I’d never find someone willing to go “all out” for me, because I might have big boobs but I’m not attractive.
I passed our waitress on the way out, and suggested she get someone else to take him the bill before he decided to leave without paying.
I got home and made myself dinner – I hadn’t stuck around long enough to even try my “posh food” – and when I next looked at my phone I had a long message saying that he was sorry if he’d made me uncomfortable, but he was willing to try a second date if I was – he would pay, of course.
Date Horror Story #6: So Many Lies…
I was making out with this guy on the side of the road. As you do. Things started heating up and I gave him a blowjob. The police caught us and I just said we were just kissing. We were both shocked. I found out that he had given me a different name, the car was a disability car and that he was a carer for his mum. So many lies.
Date Horror Story #7: The Psycho Racist Stalker
He said, “I date Filipino girls cuz they’ve usually been raped by their fathers or brothers and I seem to really mesh well with women like that.”
While I’d like to say I was thrown off, he HAD already at that point joked around that he was gonna chop me up into a million pieces and scatter my bits all over Hollywood Blvd.
Suffice it to say, after his ever-so-charming synopsis on Filipino females, I immediately stood up and said, “So I’m gonna go…..”
He asked, “What? Already? You wanna get together tomorrow or something?”
I said “No…no I don’t….not ever.”
Shortest date of my life.
This was actually when I was blogging about my sex and dating life and he proceeded to message me anonymous threats for the next 3 years about, “”I better not see you write about me you stupid bitch or I WILL make you sorry for it..”
I texted him asking if it was him (I knew it was), to which he replied, “Haha you deserve that…and it sounds like you better listen…or just stop being an arrogant cunt and writing about dudes when you shouldn’t.”
Yeah it was him.
And I never did write about him…
Date Horror Story #8: The Vampire Kisser
I’ve had many bad dates. One of the worst/funniest:
We started off on a good note. She was on time. I was on time. She liked weird fantasy books. I liked weird fantasy books. Conversation was awesome. Things were going well.
At the end of the date, she leaned in toward me and we kissed. It was one of those beautiful, floating-on-a-cloud type of kisses.
At least, until she bit my lip.
I think she meant it to be a playful, innocent sort of bite. Instead, she took a chomp out of me. I felt like she was trying to bite my lip off. Needless to say, I shouted in pain. My lip was suddenly bleeding heavily. I pulled away quickly, but not before some of the blood from my lip got into her mouth. She instinctively spat the blood back out on me. It landed on my face and shirt. A little landed in my eye, stinging.
“You’re disgusting!” she shouted. Not exactly what I needed to hear as I desperately cratered my bleeding lip. I grabbed a bunch of napkins and stuffed them in my mouth. When I looked back up, she was gone. Disappeared like a ninja in a bad children’s movie.
Needless to say, we didn’t ever have a second date though (We did, however, run into each other in a pharmacy a few weeks later). Not only did my lip hurt, but I couldn’t even think about kissing anyone for several weeks!
Date Horror Story #9: Mama Bear
We met on a Tuesday night. Stayed up all night drinking and talking. Eventually he told me he loved me that very same night and I may have said I loved him back, but I was the drunkest I’ve ever been, so he shouldn’t have held me to it.
I sobered up a bit, we went to his bed, he fell asleep mid-BJ and I went to sleep (for about 45 minutes). Then, I got up, went to work with my first hangover, had an awful day at work because of said hangover, then went back to his place that night. That’s when he told me about the key. He had made me a key to his place. After I had met him once.
I kind of laughed it off, because it was a really nice condo and having a key would make it easier to get in if we started hooking up/dating. The rest of the evening though, he kept telling me that he loved me, my body was his to do with as I pleased for as long as I wanted him, that I was his Mama Bear, etc. etc…I was sitting there on his couch thinking about another guy (that he knew I was having trouble getting over) and that’s when I really realized that this was not the best idea.
I figured I could deal with it for the night and break the news to him the next day, so we went to bed. When he started up with the “I love you” stuff again while we were cuddling, I finally said, “That’s really sweet, but you don’t. You may think you do, but you’re really just infatuated with me,” which led to a discussion about how he was sure that he really loved me, at which point I said, “You know what? You’re a great guy and you’re really sweet, but I don’t think I can be what you need me to be. I’m still not over that other guy I told you about, and this is all just moving too fast for me” and I left.
To his credit, he didn’t try to change my mind, he didn’t throw a fit, and he let me go. It’s a shame because he’s a really sweet guy, but he had no chill.
Date Horror Story #10: A Clown On Acid
First of all, let me now and forever swear to you that this entire story is true, beginning to end. Tina Fey could not even create this as fiction.
I went on a blind date with some guy I’d met online about 10 years ago. We met at a bar/restaurant. I found him physically kind of gross (ponytail, tobacco-blackened gums), but that was the least of his problems. We sat at the the bar and I attempted to make the usual conversation: “So, what do you do for a living?” Him: “I get to be an asshole.” Hm. Most impressive (not).
Eventually we moved to a table to have dinner. He talked NON-STOP for two full hours. I remember thinking “I’m in hell. I’m in hell. I’m in hell.” Among the stories he told was a charming tale: “You know what I like to do sometimes? I like to put on a clown suit, drop acid, and drive to the mall to dance with the little children.” I’m not sure what my facial expression told him, but it must have encouraged him, because he added “You should see their faces.”
He kept talking so long that when he actually asked me a question, I remember I was literally startled. “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” I jumped, and said “Oh….I, um, I guess I shoplifted when I was thirteen.” To which he replied, “You know the worst thing I’ve ever done? (Oh, so the question was just to get back to his story.) I once burned down a building for money.” Again, not sure what my face told him, but he reassured me “Oh, don’t worry, no one was in the building.” (Note: that question was the single and only question he asked me the entire evening.)
At the end of the date, he actually told me what a good time we’d had (yes, he said we) and said he couldn’t wait to see me again. I said firmly, “Thank you for dinner. Sorry, but it’s not going to work out. It was nice to meet you.” And I walked away into the night.
But wait! There’s more! The next day, I received a pleading email from him saying that he didn’t know what on earth he had done to put me off, but he really wanted to see me again. He reassured me: “Don’t worry, when I’m on acid, I always drive the speed limit.” I replied, thanks but no thanks. He responded again, “Well, couldn’t we just get together, take off our shirts and wash our cars together, like buddies do?”
This is why I don’t date online anymore.
Date Horror Story #11: The Blowjob From Hell
Warning: very NSFW. If you don’t want to read about explicit sexual matters, ignore this post.
Met a guy on the bus on the way home from school one night. Not my type – he had that cocky bad-boy juicehead thing going on, and I’m more into guys with rainbow hair and eyeliner – but I didn’t know anyone in the neighbourhood so I figured, what the hell. And he seemed like a nice guy.
We text a few times over the next week. He shows up at my door one night. Fine, I was just watching reruns of South Park in my jammies anyway. We go upstairs, start to get a little freaky. He takes his pants off and I start blowing him. “Don’t come in my mouth,” I say. “Oh, I wouldn’t,” he says quickly.
Two minutes later, he does. I choke. I’m allergic to semen. I run to the bathroom, wash my mouth out, gargle with chlorhexidine and take an antihistamine. Go back to my bedroom and tell him that’s a seriously uncool thing to do if someone says not to. He makes some excuse about he didn’t mean to, I’m just too talented at giving head.
Whatevs, I’m pretty average, but I figure he’s embarrassed enough and let it go. We (or I) try to carry on, but he won’t kiss me or have sex with me. I mentally shrug – could be he’s still embarrassed, could be he’s a one-orgasm guy, could be he’s squicked out by kissing girls after they’ve given him a blowjob (an idiotic but extremely prevalent viewpoint amongst a lot of men in England).
We don’t see each other for a few months. Then he sees me walking home from the bus one night and calls to me from his garden. I go in and say hi, give him a hug. We talk a bit about setting up an exercise plan for me (he’s a personal trainer). He says I can’t come in and do it tonight because his mom’s home and he’s scared of her (should have been a red flag, eh?) but he’ll come to my house one night this week.
He shows up a few days later and hurries me upstairs so he doesn’t have to meet my mom. (I guess he thinks all mothers are scary?) He sort of half-assedly writes down a few exercises for me to do, and then says, “I can’t concentrate, all I can think about is your mouth on my cock.”
I sort of look him up and down. “Don’t even think about coming in my mouth this time,” I say. “No, I won’t,” he says. “I’m really sorry. Nothing like that has ever happened before.”
I go to kiss him, and he jumps back in horror. “I don’t kiss,” he says.
“Are you joking?”
“No. I never kiss anyone that I’m not in love with.”
I’m silent for a moment. Then: “Do you have sex with people you’re not in love with?”
“Are we going to have sex tonight?”
My brain should be yelling at me to cut my losses and run, but hell, it’s been a couple months since I had sex, and he’s pretty and ripped and smells like aftershave, and I’ve never been with a guy who really paid attention to his body before, and I’m curious.
We get naked. He touches me, hesitantly, with one finger, on the outside. He won’t slip it in or anything – it’s like he’s either scared, or hasn’t a clue what he’s doing, or both. I try to tell him what I like, but he pulls my head into his lap. “I’m just nervous. Give me a few minutes to relax and then we’ll do it.”
Brain remembers what happened last time, but stupid libido is making excuses. “That was just a one-off!” “You should have told him you were allergic!” “Anyone can make a mistake once.” “Come on, you’re going to be getting laid in a minute!” That overrides brain, so I start sucking him, and not ten seconds later he’s shooting his load into my mouth again. This time the reaction is worse (some allergies get worse with repeated exposure) and instantaneous. My airway almost totally closes up within seconds, and I scrabble in my nightstand drawer for an Epi-pen. If I hadn’t been turning blue right that moment, it would have been anyone’s guess which one of us I was more inclined to stab.
I’m not sure which is more embarrassing, his lack of control / lack of caring (not sure whether he was honestly incapable of pulling out of my mouth, or just didn’t give a shit) or my hideously bad judgement in giving him a second chance. (For the record, I’ve given plenty of blowjobs, both before and since this incident, and I’ve never had a problem. Most guys a) know when they’re about to come; and b) respect you enough to pull out if you ask them to. I keep the Epi-pen for emergencies, but I’ve never needed it except with this one guy.)
TL; DR – Guy came in my mouth when I expressly asked him not to, and due to my semen allergy I nearly ended up in emergency. TWICE.
Date Horror Story #12: “Beauty comes and goes, but stupid is f&$@ing forever.”
My friend and I met two gorgeous girls on Sunset Blvd the previous evening. They were seriously stunning girls – easily 9’s in Hollywood (and that’s saying a lot). We only talked briefly but agreed to meet them at the Mondrian hotel for cocktails the following day.
At lunchtime we met in the lobby and ordered drinks. One girl looked at the departing waiter’s back and said, “The standards of this place have gone to shit!”
I didn’t know what she meant so I ignored it as my buddy and I tried to figure out which girl liked which guy. Because of their looks, it was a win/win for us. (Or so we naively thought)
The second girl leaned in and with a laugh said, “His black ass won’t be shopping on Rodeo Drive anytime soon… they don’t take food stamps.” (Forgive me writing this but it’s what she said) Worse, I think she deliberately pitched her voice so the waiter could hear.
The waiter happened to be African American but I had assumed the earlier comment wasn’t about that. I mean who thinks that way anymore? Now both these comments were undeniably racist and ignorant.
They both laughed. The drinks then just arrived and the waiter served them smartly and nicely. Despite their ignorance, he clearly took pride in his work. I’m not sure how he served us and remained silent, but somehow he did. I got simultaneously angry and disgusted. These two stunning girls were suddenly the ugliest people I’d ever met.
A little about us: I’m brown-skinned, Indian though my dad traces his family line back to the Caucus Mountains. I grew up in VA in the 70’s and experienced my fair share of discrimination, especially during the Iranian oil crisis. My buddy is Italian. I’m not sure what he’d experienced growing up but it didn’t matter.
We looked at each other and in that one glance we knew each other’s thoughts. We just gave each other a slight nod and stood up as one.
I took out cash plus a generous tip and paid the waiter, thanking him for his service. Then I looked at the girls and said something my dad always reminded me.
The exchange went like this (it was actually longer but this was the important part):
Us: “Our afternoon is over.”
Them: “What the f%^% are you talking about?”
Us: “Beauty comes and goes, but stupid is f&$@ing forever.”
Them: “You guys are f#%^ing kidding!”
I couldn’t bring myself to call them ‘ladies’… it would have been crediting them with something they were NOT. Best line I’ve ever had the chance to deliver though! In reality it took a few more sentence back and forths, but you get the gist.
We walked out with them screaming “No one walks out on us!”
Whatever… we never looked back, but the waiter clapped my hand and bro hugged me before I left.
We never felt better and I’ve never regretted it. Makes me angry just recalling it.
We *saw* them later that evening out. We went to the Sunset Lounge, and as we were walking home we saw them inside the Sunset Trocadero with two old men, probably between 50 and 60 yrs old. No issue with that, but they saw us and gave us the finger as we walked by, then scooched in close to the men, their expression saying we missed out.
Umm, no, we didn’t. We really didn’t.
I’m truly not sure who I was embarrassed for more, them or their ‘dates’. But I would have loved to have seen how *that* ended.
Date Horror Story #13: The Ex Files
He texted me earlier that he would meet me at the restaurant at 8. I agreed, got ready and reached the restaurant at 7:58 (I’m a punctuality freak), to find that he’s not there. So I got a booth and decided to wait. And I waited. And waited. And waited. And finally, after 25 minutes, he arrives and stares at me in horror. “You’re here already?! Aren’t girls always late?”
“Not me.” I reply.
We order food and spend the next 1 hour staring down at our plates. Every time I tried to start a conversation, he gave a reply that basically said “please don’t make me talk” We continue staring down at our plates.
He got a text message and after reading it, he seemed to be in actual physical discomfort. I asked if he was okay. He replied “It’s my ex. I cant stop thinking about her. It’s been just 2 years since we broke up” and covered his face with his hands.
OK, so that was a healthy dose of vomit, farts, psychos and vampires. You’ve probably deleted your tinder, left your phone and are running for the hills screaming now. But yeah… Happy Halloween!!! MWAHAHAHAAAA