Teens Fuck Stories
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Teens Fuck Stories
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"I heard my dad whisper, 'Oh, it's really hard, alright."
"It still haunts me to this day, all that jiggling."
"When I asked what was happening, my mom said, 'Oh, nothing — I dropped my earring on the bed, and your father and I are just looking for it. It's just really hard with a bed this big.' So I just left the room, shook, and as I did, I heard my dad whisper, ' Oh, it's really hard, alright .' Canada Day has never been the same."
"I should note, if you think a 19-year-old should have known better, I had lived alone with my mom since age six, and she didn't get married until I was 18. So I was not prepared for this kind of thing."
"She eventually had to explain that sometimes grown-ups have sex just for fun."
"My mom just laughed, 'Your father and I have sex. It's not the worst thing in the world.' But to this day, I will not unpack anyone's bags but my own."
"It went on for so long that I actually texted my mom to tell her we could hear them. Then she came out of the bedroom and told that what we were hearing...was her talking in her sleep . I was so embarrassed."
Some responses have been edited for length and clarity.
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College always promises experiences to remember but sometimes these memories aren’t quite what we were hoping for. Freshman year coupled with communal bathrooms is a recipe for gross surprises and our writers got to experience them in full:
Oh gosh, I have been here for five years now and my fair share of dorm stories could probably create a small book.
My freshman year in college though, by far, exceeds almost any other year of insane stories.
In my freshman dorm, it was a wing of girls on the bottom floor and a wing of boys on the top floor. We all shared a community bathroom with six showers and five or six toilets (hard to remember after all this time ha). There was never really any problem with showers or toilets being occupied when you wanted to use them. There was, however, problems with them being destroyed or unavailable to use because people are crazy.
On several occasions, many of the toilets would have crap smeared ALL over the toilet, floor, and stall. Which one, resulted in fines; two, was foul? Who would be willing to shove their hand in poop to do that?; and three, resulted in limited bathroom usage.
One time I was taking a shower, curtain drawn and I had my towel hanging outside the shower – all clear indications I was using the shower and in it. This girl, who thankfully I never interacted with again, just walked up to the curtain and pulled it openly said something to me that I didn’t understand, stood there for a minute and then walked away. She wasn’t in a towel so I don’t think she mistakenly thought it was empty, she was fully clothed.
Another time, my freshman year, I left the lobby to get something from my room and as soon as I walked into the wing I could hear someone having sex – LOUD. And I thought to myself well okay then, ya’ll are loud as hell but as I got closer to my room it got increasingly louder. It went quiet for a bit when I got to my room and I went in – no one there – and I grabbed my stuff and then realized I had to pee. I went into the bathroom, which is right across from my room and walked in on two people having sex on the COMMUNITY bathroom floor.
My freshman year of college I lived in suite-style dorms where I shared a room with one guy and a bathroom with another room of two people. This story is just one example of the shenanigans that went on in that dorm.
One day while I was doing homework, one of my suitemates barged into my room with a bunch of his buddies. They all had huge grins on their faces like they had just gotten into something. I suspiciously looked at my suitemate and then I saw that he was holding a very large dildo in his hand. This thing was a Caucasian monstrosity. It was very thicc and was complete with testicles, veins, and even a suction cup at its base. Before I can even ask “Why?” he tells me the dildo’s whole backstory.
Apparently, the room below us had a string hanging from its drop ceiling at the start of the year. When those people pulled the string, they found a note attached that said: “Check the other room to find Richard”. The people went over to the conjoined room, lifted one of the ceiling tiles, and out plopped Richard.
My suitemate somehow knew those people and had just stolen Richard from their room. Richard really became our mascot for the year. We’d do things, like stick him to pretty much any surface in the dorm using his suction cup or put him under the pillow of whomever, was expecting a lady-friend over that night. At Christmas time I actually used sparkly pipe cleaners to make tinsel and a star to turn him into our Christmas tree. It was an interesting time, to say the least. Richard is still the centerpiece of my old suitemate’s apartment today.
Coming to college, I knew that I would experience all sorts of weird things. Though, I never expected that I would be subjected to the stereotypical the “I caught my roommate masturbating” occurrence.
My weekly schedule was always pinned to my desk, allowing my roommate to know where I’d be and when I would not be in the dorm. Except for one day, I got out of class early and returned to my dorm. I unlocked the door in a loud manner to announce I was coming in, but the headphones must have been too loud. I proceeded to enter, only to find him on his laptop, pants to his knees and tissue at the ready. I threw my belongings down, trying to leave as soon as possible, but he insisted on having a conversation with me while blowing his nose with the tissue.
Everyone knows the worst part about being a freshman in college is the communal bathroom. At first, I thought this was just an exaggeration, it had been smooth sailing once you get past having zero privacy. That was until the fateful morning when I walked into the bathroom stall–my favorite bathroom stall–and saw a horror unfold. There was poop everywhere. It was on the back of the toilet, the toilet seat, the floor, the stall walls. Now, I thought this was a single occurrence; maybe someone just had a rough night. Nope! Every other Friday there was this murder in the stall. Fridays, coincidentally, when the janitorial staff would not be back on duty until two days later on Monday. Not only did I lose my favorite stall to the wreckage, but this person moved on to the shower stalls.
An entire side of showers would be off-limits thanks to this person’s -ahem- bowel movement on the floor. An entire floor of girls had to share two showers that weekend. This person then moved their games right to the middle of the bathroom where you could be brushing your teeth staring at someone’s digested breakfast. It was disgusting and an experience that truly bonded the floor of girls for life. Honestly, though, I hope whoever was the culprit is doing well and has curbed their appetite for public pooping.
When it comes to being a freshman in college, you will experience new things. For many people, this often comes with the fact that you have to use communal restrooms, as well as the fact most people have to share a room with a complete stranger. When I was coming to school, I was so excited to meet my roommate. I always pictured us as hanging out, and being pretty close. I found my roommate online, and it seemed like we had a lot in common but I soon found out that this wasn’t the case. We always seemed to be stepping on each other toes, and I realized that we had nothing in common.
Before we came to school, we planned our rooms together. She told me that she was really into decorating, and I was so excited to decorate our rooms together, but after about a week into school, I realized that I had the roommate from hell. She might have been the dirtiest person I have ever meet. She would always throw her clothes all over our room. She would invite all of her friends over and they would sit on my bed and my desk. After stepping on multiple acrylic nails that she ripped off and threw on our carpet, I thought I had experienced it all, unfortunately, it got worse. One day after a long day of classes, I came back to our room to eat some dinner. I went to go throw something in our garbage can to find a used (and full) condom just sitting there among one of my ramen noodle wrappers.
After about five minutes of gaging, and crying, I decided to have an uncomfortable talk with her. Nothing really seemed to change so I ended up making the decision to move out. Nothing could have prepared me for all of the crazy, and gross, things I have experienced as a freshman, but without all the crazy stories, freshman year would have been a dull one.
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And Now, Your Finest and Filthiest Stories About Summer Camp
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Since 1957, GQ has inspired men to look sharper and live smarter with its unparalleled coverage of style, culture, and beyond. From award-winning writing and photography to binge-ready videos to electric live events, GQ meets millions of modern men where they live, creating the moments that create conversations.
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My most vivid memories of summer camp all feature me being a teenage shithead. Take soccer camp, for instance. We were at soccer camp in Faribault, MN. I don’t remember playing any soccer whatsoever at that camp, but I very much DO remember the camp was at a boarding school, and that we got to stay in the dorms all week, and that the dorm had a pay phone that was the only phone in the whole joint. So, at night, we snuck down to the phone and started dialing random 1-800 numbers, hoping to either get a live operator or a live girl at the other end of the line. And whenever a real person answered the phone, we would scream I’M A MOTHERFUCKER WITH A BUFFALO BUTT, hang up the phone, and then run away. I’m not quite sure why we ran from, you know, a phone call. Then again, I’m not sure why we did anything.
My oldest kid hasn’t gone to sleepaway camp yet for various reasons, and I have implored my wife to send her for at least one summer because (A) I want these kids out of the house, and (B) as one of my friends said about his kid at camp, “I know they’ll come back a different person than when they left.” Summer camp is an indelible experience for so many kids because it represents the first time they’re really, truly out on their own. You get to shed your overbearing parents and liberate the dipshit teen within. It is 3-10 weeks of pure peer pressure, made from concentrate. And it’s a valuable rite of passage, even when you’re screaming obscenities into a payphone like a complete moron.
These readers know what I’m talking about. Gather round the campfire now as they regale you with their strangest, horniest tales of unbridled youth in summertime…
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