The 10 Dumbest Attempts To Get Laid

Last week, we asked readers to share their dumbest “must get laid” stories, resulting in over a thousand different tales of the pursuit of tail. Here are the ten best.

We’ve picked 10 stories that represent the various ways in which women will sacrifice for sex. While the overwhelming majority of the comments involved some amount of humiliation, these few brave souls were willing to go all out for the cause. With results ranging from awesome to awful, we present you with our finalists.

1. In Stitches.
There were a surprising number of women willing to go through serious physical pain in order to have sex. Several commenters incurred broken bones and serious scrapes (to go along with their bruised egos) in attempts to get laid. But commenter NOlita89 takes the cake when it comes to physical sacrifice in the name of fellatio:

A few weeks ago I went home to Philly to get my wisdom teeth out (I’m in college and live in NYC most of the time). Two days before the procedure, a friend and I decided to belatedly celebrate our 21st birthdays by exploring the bar scene in Philly for the first time. Long story short I ended up getting with this hot older guy who I very much wanted to see again before I went back to NY. Unfortunately, he was only free the following Thursday, or three days after I had gotten my wisdom teeth out. I wasn’t too chipmunk-y so I took some vicodin and just sucked it up… pun intended.

Yeah, I popped my stitches sucking dick. I am relieved that everything healed fine on its own because that would have been a hella-awkward conversation to have with the dentist.

2. The Science Guy.
While many of our entries end in sexual satisfaction, some can serve as cautionary tales for those of us who just don’t know when to quit. Fortunately for Ms.Eleanor.Riley, spending a night working to cure HIV is at least a good cause, even if she did end up high and dry.

I spent a night in a bio-hazard level three tissue culture laboratory, learning how to culture human cells in the vain hope that it would convince my scientist male friend that I really was a worthy and intelligent match.

Human tissue requires a constantly changing media to keep it alive. I offered to assist him in what I thought would be a quick venture to water his cells. At midnight.

I spent the hours of the late night and morning assisting him in infecting male testicular cancer cells with the human immunodeficieny virus, and learning how to grow human testicular cells in vitro. Lab coat, biohzards, gloves, mask, labs- the whole nine yards. Fascinating and terrifying work.

Did I go home with him? Yes. Did I get what I was after?

No. I slept on his couch.

3. Both Go Down Together.
Women will do a lot to bed a musician. This is something I learned from reading through some 1,600 responses. Commenters admitted to calling radio stations, sleeping with roadies, and pretending to like horrible, gawd-awful music just to be with a guy in a band. None, however, could stop summerisnotaverb‘s entry:

I once successfully convinced my friend to join me in a reverse stage-dive in the hopes of bedding a drummer. Once on stage I froze, but my friend wound up being put in a headlock by the bassist, and the two of them tumbled into the drum kit. The incident made the pages of my city’s paper, although the reporter assumed that we had colluded with the band, because the timing was so perfect. After the show said bassist bought me a cranberry juice . . . if you know what I mean.

4. The Mary Magdalen.
And for another tale of thwarted ambition, let’s turn to reader sparkless, who went to biblical lengths to please a demanding artist, but was still unable to “know” her neighbor:

I was living in a big house with several other girls and boys. We decide to throw a party one weekend and I made sure to invite our hot-as-shit next door neighbor. He was tall and lean, an artist. We dug the same bands. I’d been wondering about the contents of his cargo shorts as long as I’d known him. He was well-known around town as the dude that painted rose bouquets on sidewalks in front of girls’ houses—and we had a new bouquet! I felt sure that tonight was the night I’d close the deal.

Party starts. I’m wearing a very short little halter dress and my sexiest panties, just in case, you know, he were to follow me up our very steep stairs later. He arrives and I spend the next hour or so drinking tequila and making lots of sexyface in his vicinity.

He FINALLY approaches me. Within a minute or two of some exceptionally witty banter we have made some sort of bet. It was years ago and I don’t remember the bet (probably something along the lines of, “who knows every word of ‘Surfer Rosa'”), but the winner could have whatever they wanted from the other person. WHATEVER THEY WANTED. I had lots of ideas, naturally, but he won the bet. His prize: I had to wash his feet right then and there.

Okay so, foot washing. We go into the bathroom and I start the water. He sits on the ledge and I proceed to wash his feet. It was actually really intimate in a Jesus and Magdalene sort of way. I was becoming seriously turned on and did lots of gratuitous bending over and skirt hiking. After his feet were clean and dry he thanked me and went back out into the party. We didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

His feet were filthy, by the way, and the bouquet ended up being for my roommate.

5. Can You Hear Me Now?
Sometimes the pursuit of sex takes us to weird places. Sometimes, like in the case of MizJenkins, it takes us to the South Side of Chicago.

Once upon a time I was hooking up with a friend of a friend on the South Side of Chicago. It was definitely a FWB situation (which is really what makes the whole thing so dumb, I didn’t even like him that much)…he was cute and nice but neither of us were interested in dating each other.

As a hook-up he was fantastic though. Polite, respectful, got the job done and didn’t bug me with nonsense in between. So when I got a late-night booty call I thought nothing of driving 40 minutes from the North Side to get a little lovin’. Even at 2:00 AM. Since my grandma was in Florida for the winter and I had her car I figured I should take full advantage.

So down I go to like 78th and Stony Island Ave (the ‘hood), all prepped for sexytimes… When I get there I realize there are no parking spaces on his block. So I park around the block call him to see if he will come walk me safely to his door.

No answer.

So I sit in the car trying to keep warm and call back a few times .

No answer.
No answer.

Shit. Well it’s 3:00 AM and I just drove almost an hour to get laid so dammit I’m not going home. I’m going to brave the cold and the thuggery and walk my ass over two blocks. When I get there I knock on the door.

No answer.

I knock again. No answer. I call. No answer. Ring the bell. No answer. Knock knock knock. No answer.

It’s been 20 minutes and I don’t know what to do because 1) I don’t want to keep knocking and wake his neighbors up, 2) I’m freezing and 3) dudes on the block are starting to notice that I’m standing outside alone. So I walk back to my car.

Towed.

Now I’m frantic! I walk back to the house trembling with fear, cold and disbelief at the fact that I am stranded in the ‘hood at 3:oo AM…where is he???

And then it occurs to me: this motherfucker wears a hearing aid and I bet he can’t hear me. God damn.

Eventually one of his neighbors did hear me and let me in the apartment building so I could go pound on his door. At which point he did some pounding himself but I didn’t enjoy it much because I was tired, freezing and annoyed (especially at the fact that I couldn’t be annoyed because dude had a disability).

To top it off, I tried to overcome my irritation by faking enthusiasm with a lot of “YES! YES!” “OH! RIGHT THERE!” but every time I did he just said “What?”

6. I’m With The Band.
Yes, another musician story. Only this time, the musician wasn’t the original target, just a product of casting too wide a net. Via commenter SlutaciousHo:

I became a groupie.

This absolutely beautiful guy came into my store last year; he was an intern at a radio station and a huge fan of a particular artist/band. He got us tickets and bought me just enough beer that I ended up flashing a camera. He then scored us invites to the afterparty, where one of the “musicians” mentioned that he recognized me from “the titty tape.” My date pulled me aside and mentioned how awesome it would be if I hooked up with this guy, and how he would want to fuck anybody who fucked one of his favorite rock stars…so I did. Because the intern was gorgeous, and as shitfaced as I was, and I wanted to keep going to free concerts and afterparties.

They both got lucky that night. And the intern took me to some great concerts over the next couple of months. Honestly, the potential (numerous) STDs and the shame that ensues whenever I see said rock star on TV were TOTALLY worth the front row tickets to The Black Crowes.

7. The Pits.
Most women attend concerts, or maybe sporting events, sometimes even family picnics, to get with the object of their affection. Raederie did something a little more unusual:

I went to an armpit-smelling contest. Afterward he got stoned and fell asleep next to me on the twin-sized comforter he used as a bed. The next morning he stepped on my glasses and broke them.

And in the end I didn’t even get any.

8. Not A Euphemism.
This story, received via email, gets an honorable mention purely because of its absurdity. And the bad-joke potential:

I got him to give me didjeridoo lessons. Not only that, he convinced me to buy one off of him, and he really ripped me off. And I made him baked goods. In the end, nothing actually happened with him, I didn’t have any experience with guys so I didn’t know what to do once I got him into my apartment. But the entire time I knew him, it was like one awful double entendre after another, but it was all literal. I met his snake, he ate my muffin, I played his didjeridoo.

9. The Stratego.
Though we don’t have individual categories, if we did, this would certainly win the “most labor intensive.” Commenter jaimewilleatyou combined elements of stalking with an intense commitment to pretending in order to nab a Guitar Hero-playing, indie rock-listening, smoker. Observe:

When I was in college, I had a heartbreaking, obsessive, and majorly unrequited crush on a friend of a friend. Though I’d only spoken to him a few times, I found his MySpace and spent hours scouring it for every detail about his life and likes and friends in order to develop the appropriate seduction tactics.

It was a three part strategy:

1) Become a Guitar Hero Goddess
I surmised from his MySpace that he loved Guitar Hero, so I called up a friend and asked if I could come over and train at her house, because I knew she had the game. We stayed up all night and played until breakfast, but I got really, really good (I can still kick everyone’s ass).

2) Show Him My Indie Rock Prowess
He was really into Murder By Death and Tokyo Police Club (again, gleaned from MySpace), so I bought all of their albums, studied their wikis, and then made him a mix cd that had both of those artists on there, along with others that kind of sounded like one or the other. Hoping he’d casually listen to it and then realize that we were musical soul mates.

3) Start Smoking
He was a chain smoker, and I’d never had a cigarette in my life, so I bought a pack, and a lighter, and sat in my backyard and smoked until I wasn’t choking anymore. I then proceeded to vomit all over my lawn.

But here’s where it gets really bad…
His birthday was coming up, and I noticed he liked to use those lighters with the adjustable flames. He liked to turn them all the way up so that he could hold the lighter 6 inches under his cigarette and still light it (badass, right? ha). So I decided to buy him a creme brulee blow torch. Yeah. A blow torch.

I showed up at his birthday party with the blow torch and the CD in hand, and when I gave it to him, his response was, “You’re so-and-so’s roommate right?” He opened the present and looked at the mini torch, completely confused. “It’s to, uh, light your cigarettes.” I stammered.

Although we ended up talking that night (over cigarettes no less) and, eventually, became MySpace friends, I never got to show him my Guitar Hero skills. Nor did we ever talk about the creepy birthday presents or our similar music taste. And none of this ever got me laid.

10. The Poker Face.
This one, from L-dizzle, requires no explanation:

Pretending to like men.

And now, we pass judgment without really passing judgment! Which of these ten dumb attempts at lovin’ is the most ridiculous? Cast your votes, and the winner will get a $50 gift certificate from Good Vibrations. Because they earned it.