Vanessa’s Vagenda

A venture in vagina-related voyages

One winter night, during another binge session on Tinder, I made the decision to meet one of my matches. It’s rare for me to willingly meet random men for a hookup, especially when I must judge who they are based on a few photos, age, and a short bio; all provided by the person on the other side of your screen. It may just be me, but twenty-one-year-old Blake, who only has pictures of him holding fish and drinking beer isn’t the slightest bit enticing.

It was almost midnight when Reece, a fellow NDSU student, picks me up from my hall. His truck smells like cigarettes and I try not to cough. We share awkward introductions and attempt to keep things from getting uncomfortable. The time comes for us to arrive at his apartment. He opens the door to a studio with no kitchen, only a toaster oven on a small dining table. I play off the odd living situation and continue to make small talk. 

Reece informs me that he’s in an open relationship with his girlfriend of a year. He suggested the idea, thinking it would be a fun experiment. She had been sleeping with other guys for a few weeks. He told me I was his first “side chick,” to put it simply.

We sit on his bed and try watching Netflix to avoid painful silence. Things escalate, kissing, clothes come off, the whole shebang. Reece and I were about to do the deed when he stopped and looked at me. Reece tells me that he just came to the conclusion that he can’t have sex unless he’s emotionally attached to that person. I’m not one to judge a person based on how they live their life romantically, but it would have been nice to establish that before I was sitting in front of this guy naked. 

Moral of the story, be careful who you hook up with and get to know someone before getting into bed with them.

I make him lay down with me to talk through what just happened. Reece explains his thought process and how he’s unsure about the fate of his relationship with his girlfriend. Mind you, this is my first night meeting this dude and he’s like an open book, dishing out everything he’s been through with this girl. I assume he’s word vomiting since Reece is seriously panicked. 

I’m laying there trying not to sound irritated due to being blue-balled. Yes, that can happen when you’re a girl; It’s called sexual frustration. We lay there for an hour or so talking back and forth. Going through sexual history, past relationships, and anything else I can come up within a desperate attempt to ease the tension radiating off this boy.

The time comes for us to put our clothes back on and for Reece to drive me home. I’m starving, so he kindly treats me to McDonalds. He plays classic rock on the radio and lights a cigarette; I pretend this doesn’t bother me. 

Reece finally drops me off in front of my hall and we say our goodbyes. I trudge up to my room digesting the dumpster fire of a night I had. Processing if what I did was wrong, or why I even met him in the first place. I went to bed that night confused and left in disbelief. What did I just do?

A week goes by when I get a message from Reece. He fills me in on how he broke up with his girlfriend and how he’s better fit for monogamy. He thanked me for coming over that night, as I helped him come to this realization. 

It was comforting in a way, knowing that night was beneficial for one of us. As for me, that night lives on as one of the strangest hookups that never happened. Moral of the story, be careful who you hookup with and get to know someone before getting into bed with them.

Need advice? Have a similar hookup story that needs digesting? Vanessa is happy to reply to any and all vagina-related voyages. Please send anonymous submissions to

*Note: All names mentioned in this story have been changed to protect their privacy.

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