What It’s REALLY Like To Have A Half-Night Stand

On the night of my half-night stand, I was dressed up with nowhere to go and two very big reasons to find someone to drink heavily with.

I had just received a text from the guy I had date plans with that night. It read: “I can’t decide whether or not I want go out tonight. I’m like, real lazy right now.”

No less than ten minutes after this goon told me he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to get off his couch to keep our date, a flurry of texts from my recent ex-boyfriend came in, with photos of his new girlfriend eating food and his commentary attached to each. Then a final message apologizing for the “confusion.”

I needed lots and lots of tequila.

Most of my friends were tied up but I did manage to sneak in a few drinks with a friend who took pity and met me before her dinner plans. By 8 PM, the tequila wasn’t quite numbing the pain of being blown off by my date, followed by having my phone blown up with pictures of my ex’s new girlfriend.

I needed to get laid — by someone who wasn’t either of those nimrods. So I headed home to a bar near my apartment. On the way, I put up a Tinder moment of myself and the name of the bar I was at (Sorry, mom).

Not expecting anyone to show, I ordered myself a drink and scouted for prospects. Halfway into my first drink, Scott (name has been changed) from Tinder graced my presence. He introduced himself loudly, as Scott from Tinder. Just so that everyone at the bar was aware.

He bought me another (stronger) drink and after some small talk I made it known that my roommate was away and that I had the place to myself. So each of us a few drinks in, Scott from Tinder and I headed back to my place, picking up a pack of beers on the way.

When we got back to my apartment, we streamed dirty Bob Saget stand-up comedy because that obviously sets the mood. It took Scott from Tinder two more beers (and about thirty minutes of Bob Saget) to finally make a move.

Just as victory was in sight and I was going to have a hot sex story for the ages, Scott from Tinder announced he had no condoms. He put back on most of his clothes, and said he was going to the corner store to get some.

At this point, I very seriously contemplated not letting him back in. But I had come this far and he had left his sweater behind and the thought of me having to return it to him sober in the daylight was just too much to bear.

Scott from Tinder returned victorious with magnum condoms that I suspected were an unnecessary size. Finally, I thought, let’s get it in. 

Except, it never went in. Because it never got hard enough to go in.

After 20 minutes of trying in vain, Scott from Tinder apologized and rolled over.

“Well, I guess you should be going,” I said.

“Can’t I stay?” he asked, making a really weird attempt at a puppy face.

“No,” I told him, and started picking his clothes off the floor and tossing them in his general direction.

“Ouch,” he responded, “Why so angry?”

We exchanged a look that I think he understood to mean, “You know why.” Luckily, this made him pick up the pace and hightail it out of my apartment. But not before trying to kiss me goodbye.

Scott from Tinder continued to text me for the better part of a year, asking if he could make it up to me, which isn’t how half-night stands work.

There are no second chances. If you can’t give me what I invited you here for, then I don’t want you to stay. In fact, I can’t even fathom thought of having you stick around when the reason for this get-together is moot.

And I sure as hell don’t want to see you again.