Hussies, every last one of you. And thank God for that, because oh boy oh boy, your wedding hookup stories are crazier than a bag of raccoons!

First, I gotta give a shoutout to Suck It, Trebek for creating a new account to tell multiple wedding hookup stories. That’s some dedication to the craft, right there.

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Onto the rest of your stories, and oh God, were there ever some doozies. I cannot even begin to bring myself to recreate this one but if you would like to spend the rest of the day screaming, please step this way.

There were definitely some themes. A ton of you hooked up with brothers or cousins of the bride or groom, like Anonypants:

I was a bridesmaid in a close friend’s wedding. Got to the rehearsal, noticed that her three-years-younger brother had gotten SUPER cute since I last saw him, brought him back to my place after the reception and showed him a REAL good time. He ended up spending the night with me and trying to sneak back into the hotel where the family was staying early the next morning. His mom saw him running up the stairs, which started a huge “where did B spend the night?!” kerfluffle that didn’t end until about six months later when I was visiting the newlyweds and the GROOM’s brother tried to hit on me and I accidentally blurted to my friend, “I can’t sleep with BOTH your brothers!”

A lot of you were doing it in hotel rooms you were sharing with multiple friends, like NoGStringsAttached:

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Summer after college.

I returned from (a failed attempt at) nannying in Spain in time for a wedding for a study abroad friend. Said friend’s groomsman and I had an on-again/off-again hook up situation. Proceed to get belligerent at wedding and driven to the hotel by groom’s aunt/uncle. Make quick stop at the McDonalds across the street (where we walk through the drive-thru) and then head the ONE hotel room that 8 of us are sharing. Promptly claim one of the two double beds. Start touching and determine it’s best not to do this RIGHT HERE so we stumble over all of our friends sleeping on the floor to the hotel room bathroom. Get it on. Stumble back out and over said friends. Crawl into the bed.

Wake in the morning pretty pleased with ourselves for being so discreet. On the drive home one of the floor friends turns to me and says “I rescued your underwear from the bathroom floor and put it in your backpack. You owe me a drink.”

I cannot resist a story that involves a kilted man, like this one from Fancyfingersticks:

At a wedding at a Scottish castle, a kilted groomsman and I went to his hotel room. Not just his posh hotel room, that would be for the regulars. He felt the hotel bathroom was the perfect sexy times place. We were holed up in the bathroom, while there were random people coming in and out of the room raiding his hotel mini bar. I totally understand why Scottish men would wear kilts: no fuss no muss esp when they are completely wankered. 6am we emerge to find all the remnants of the mini bar strewn about and ended up trolling every corner shop for mini liquor bottles and Pringles cans while the sun was rising. Scottish wedding - check.

I also can’t resist anything that involves giant ‘80s bridesmaids dresses, which are somehow not even remotely the best part of this story from wickerwitch:

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Back in the 80s, a friend from college invited me to be her bridesmaid. We lived hundreds of miles from each other, and had only exchanged brief letters in the years since graduation. I shouldn’t have accepted, but I thought it would be fun to see her and the people we used to hang out with.

Since I had less money than most of the guests, my friend had invited me to stay at her apartment for the weekend. The rest of the bridal party either lived nearby or had booked rooms at the hotel where the reception was to happen. When I arrived after a long-ish road trip, I was weirded out by all the Christian parapharnalia all over my friend’s abode—she hadn’t been religious when I knew her. I was newly out of the closet in the big city—but prospect of coming out to her and her new Christian friends and her fundamentalist fiance in the mIidst of a conservative small town was daunting. So I kept quiet and played along with the hetero-fest.

There was one person at the wedding who seemed to be giving the proceedings the same side-eye I was feeling. The groom’s older sister, like me, had traveled from a big city to get to the wedding. She had moved away from the family home years before her brother, widowed mother and other siblings “found Jesus.” She and I ended up taking a couple bottles of wine back to the hotel room she was sharing with her mother. We thought we were safe because of course the mother of the groom would want to stay for every minute of her son’s wedding. Unfortunately, we didn’t know the mother would come back to the room to take her blood pressure medication.

When the mother walked in, her view of me was semi-obscured by the big poufy 80s bridesmaid dress her daughter was wearing. She looked at the bed in a confused way, then asked her daughter why there was an extra pair of shoes there—then gasped as she realized there was a whole extra bridesmaid on the bed. She ran out of the room shrieking. My hookup and I adjourned to the one gay bar in that town she knew from before moving—still in our big-shouldered, elaborate 80s bridesmaid get-ups (think Princess Di’s wedding gown but in yellow). We were the only women there, but the small-town gay guys bought us drinks all night.

So great! Just really so so so so so many fantastic stories to choose from. But in the end, I have to hand the story-of-the-week honors to CatLadyStark:

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Once upon a time, last year, my sorority “big sister” got married. Being from the south, the wedding parties were large and fairly tight-knit. However, due to a last minute cancellation, the groomsmen outnumbered the bridesmaids by one, and so one of them jokingly offered to resign, if he could still be involved somehow.

Flash forward to the ceremony. Groom, maids and men enter, as per usual. Everyone turns to the back, expecting the bride next - but no! It’s the 6 foot tall ousted groomsman, lovely in his tailored suit and bow tie, holding a basket full of rose petals. He performed his duty quite admirably and added a bit of levity to a very emotional (all positive emotions, but still) wedding.

And that, friends, is how I fucked a flower girl.


Contact the author at jolie@deadspin.com.

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