My Drunken Pee Story Is Way Worse Than Yours


Email this to a friend

Nice Move


So there I was. Shirt off. Bra off. Fooling around with a kid from down the hall while my roommate was sleeping arguably five feet away in our dorm room. His drunk pursuit of trying to get a blow job was getting really old really quick. My patience was dwindling, and all I wanted was to sleep in my twin size bed by myself. As I thought of an excuse to send my frisky hall-mate packing, my roommate woke from her drunken slumber. She always came in clutch.

She got up, and headed straight towards the bathroom in our suite. I called out her name across the dark room (I was hoping she was going to make my life easy and ask me to help her as she threw up, so my guest would leave). She didn’t react to her name being called. No response, no head nod, no giggle, and no sarcastic comment. She walked past our bathrooms and over to where our dressers were. I then realized she must be changing out of her clothes from her wild night.

The silence broke when I heard a stream of liquid. “She must have turned on our Keurig!” which was located on a low table across from our closets, I whispered to the naked kid still lying next to me. I thought this was logical considering she was an avid coffee drinker. “Um, I think she’s peeing,” he responded. I leaped out of bed and threw on the first shirt I could find. I sprinted across our room to find my roommate squatting over our small table, pants around her ankles, peeing. All over my printer that sat on the table with the coffee maker.

When I approached her, she didn’t even look at me. Her eyes stayed glued to the air in front of her, still intoxicated from the 14 shots she decided to take that night. As she finished clearing out her bladder, she looked around. She looked surprised that there wasn’t toilet paper conveniently located next to our Keurig and printer. I had a white sweater hanging on the handle of my closet. She went to grab it. “I swear to God if you wipe yourself with my sweater I will kill you. Wait.” I ran into our bathroom and grabbed her toilet paper. I handed it to her and she looked at me like I was crazy for expecting her to use toilet paper to wipe herself with. Hesitantly, she used it and then threw it to the floor. May as well just keep using our tile floor as a toilet at this point I suppose.

I attempted to get her changed. I handed her sweatpants and told her to put them on as I unraveled an entire roll of paper towels onto our floor. “Do you want help?” I cringed as I heard the voice of the hookup I forgot was still in my room, witnessing this circus act. “For you to leave” is what I wanted to say, but decided just to ignore him, acting like I was too preoccupied with puddles of pee to answer.

I turned around to see her flailing around with each leg of the pants on one arm. Okay, no question about it. She was still drunk. I put a shirt on her and cleared her bed of the apples, pencils, laptop, and other miscellaneous things she was sleeping on. Apparently she also wanted to sleep under her fitted sheets as well. I tried to talk her out of it but she insisted on yelling “Relax!” for the tenth time. Whatever. I had to pick my battles at this point. She went back to sleep, and I went back in bed with my “guest.” He refused to leave because who wouldn’t want to sleep in a twin bed with two people when your own is down the hall?! At 7 AM I finally kicked him out.

“Hey you know what you’re doing today?” I asked her when she woke up in the morning. She looked really confused as I told her she was going to have to clean my printer, which she did after I explained the night to her over a dining hall breakfast. At first, she didn’t want anyone to know. Now, it is one of our favorite stories to share with new friends, and now strangers on the internet. My favorite part? She never threw up. She just peed all over my printer. Her favorite part? That kid finally got his blow job when I got back in bed.

P.S. My printer still works in case you were wondering.

Image via Shutterstock


You must be logged in to comment. Log in or create an account.

Click to Read Comments (1)