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Welcome to Queer Sex Horror Stories! This Autostraddle miniseries features embarrassing and shriek-worthy events that have happened to our writers during sex (and they’re all 100% true). Gather around our virtual campfire and prepare to clench your butt cheeks. In the words of R.L. Stine: Reader, beware…you’re in for a scare!

Fucking was urgent. I’d been dumped by a partner who proposed we meet at the train stop between our respective apartments to “talk about us” earlier that day. In an unfortunate twist, we had to ride the same crowded train car for four stops in the same direction while I sobbed. I needed someone to fuck the experience right out of me ASAP. Fortunately, my friends Nicole and Juan were having a party that night. My plan? Get in, get laid, and get out. What could go wrong?

I talked one of my co-workers into joining us. He was British and built like a hockey player. He’d expressed a passive interest in hanging out with me outside of work and an active interest in getting over his ex as soon as possible. I figured attending Nicole and Juan’s party together would be mutually beneficial.

“Is he cute?” Nicole asked as she dumped Everclear into a bowl of bright red hunch punch.

“No.”

“But, like do you think he’ll be good in bed?” Juan asked.

“Probably.”

Juan and Nicole glanced at each other. They replied in unison: “Straight people are wild.”

I knew this to be true. I just hadn’t realized that I was not, in fact, straight. My “wild” was unrelated.

Once the other guests arrived, the party went as many parties in my early twenties often went. As we bled the punchbowl dry, I sat next to British Mitchell on the couch and made my intentions increasingly clear: my hand on his chest, slipping sex into conversation, whispering in his ear.

Then Juan asked me if I wanted to raid Nicole’s weed stash. I excused myself and followed him.

“So, are you guys going to fuck?!” Juan asked as soon as he shut the door behind him.

I sighed wistfully. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve made it abundantly clear that I would like to, but he’s just not biting.”

“Well, he must be gay. I’m getting gay vibes.”

“Who’s gay?” Nicole opened the door.

“Besides us?” Juan laughed.

I choked out a laugh. My face flushed. Juan (rightfully) believed I was a closet case, and he loved to bring that up around Nicole. The only person unaware of how badly I wanted to fuck Nicole was Nicole.

I sighed. “British Mitchell.”

Nicole disagreed. She was sure that British Mitchell flirted with her just a few minutes ago. Juan reported that clearly British Mitchell was flirting with him.

I groaned in defeat.

Juan and Nicole promised that we were going to figure out which of the two that he’d been flirting with. Then the chosen one would propose a threesome with British Mitchell and me. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for better friends.

The party was winding down by the time we came out of Nicole’s room. British Mitchell was still on the couch.

Juan, the king of subtlety, slithered up to British Mitchell and asked, “Which one of us are you trying to fuck?”

British Mitchell’s face turned red. To our surprise, he answered, “Well, if it was up to me, all of you.”

So that’s how my two closest friends and a co-worker and I ended up naked in Nicole’s bed. Nicole and Juan, two true MVPs, each sucked one of my nipples. British Mitchell half-heartedly grabbed at my clit with one hand while clawing at Juan’s dick with the other.

Nicole, knowing bad clit work when she saw it, tried to show British Mitchell how to get me closer. Fuck. I was having my first group sex experience AND my first queer experience in one night?! A decidedly bad student, British Mitchell focused way more on Juan’s dick.

“Juan, we’re trying to get OUR FRIEND off,” Nicole hissed.

Juan, equally unimpressed by the claw job he was receiving, focused his attention on me. “Nicole, what do I even do with a vagina?”

Nicole suggested he finger me. Juan enthusiastically stuck his finger inside me while Nicole massaged my clit. British Mitchell played with her hair until she swatted him away. He was useless.

It felt amazing. Until it didn’t.

I didn’t know how to break it to Juan that his jagged talon plunging rapidly in and out of me was not only doing nothing for me, it was also starting to hurt. Normally, I take the addition of more fingers with pride and pleasure, but each finger Juan added was like another head added to the Hydra invading my cervix. Shit, was that my cervix? I screamed.

And then I faked an orgasm to get out of it. It was over.

British Mitchell muttered something about needing to find his clothes because he had somewhere to be in the morning. Juan, grateful that someone had seemingly finished, felt around in the dark for the lightswitch. Something was warm and sticky. Wait.

Nothing could have prepared me for the carnage that awaited us. The light flickered on to reveal that the wall was covered in red handprints.

To our horror, Nicole’s white sheets and Juan’s right hand were covered in blood. A hot pool collected at the foot of the bed. I looked down, feeling suddenly more naked than I ever had. A tiny stream of blood was still dribbling out of my pussy. The room looked like a crime scene. The murder weapon fingered the lightswitch again. The room went dark.

For a moment, I think we all believed that we could unsee the Jackson Pollock I’d made of Nicole’s white duvet. Unsmell the iron that had been drowned out by the musk of sex. Unfeel the blood coagulated in cum on our skin. I certainly wanted to. I was suddenly far too sober and far too naked to navigate the humiliation of making a mess of my first queer group sex experience. I sprinted to the bathroom.

I scrubbed my crotch and legs with Nicole’s fancy bar soap. “Ew, you got your period all over Nicole’s sheets!” I heard Juan shriek from the bedroom. Warm water and blood pooled on the bathroom tile.

Exiting the bathroom, I realized I’d created a trail. I followed it back to ground zero to survey the damage.

Nicole and I met each other’s gaze. This was not period blood, this was you-finger-banged-me-so-poorly-that-you-gashed-my-fucking-cervix blood. But the version of this story in which Juan fucked me so hard that I “started my period” is the prevailing narrative to this day.

Juan was a dumb asshole, but he was our dumb asshole. Nicole and I were not going to let British Mitchell leave believing that he was anything less than the weakest link in this foursome. We silently agreed to spare Juan’s feelings.

“Oh, um, do you need me t-t-to-?” British Mitchell stammered.

Nicole and Juan told him that it was best he just leave.

British Mitchell gathered up his clothes and left Nicole’s room without even putting them on.

As soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him, we all collapsed into the gory sheets in defeat. We would bleach the walls in the morning.

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