Drunk, Fucked, and Feeling the Heat: Your 'Friend' Just Became an Enemy

How to Spot a Monster in a Sweater Vest

You think you know a guy from school, sharing beers like you're brothers in a frat house. Next thing you're horizontal drunk, his hands in your pants, and his apology reeks of lies. That is the moment the game turns from friendly to feral.

The Setup: Drunk on a Sofa Doesn't Mean Drunk on Consent

He lured you with a "let's just talk" invite. Classic bait-and-switch. When your ID question got a shrug, you should've known—this wasn't a party. It was a trap. He was already wired on chemicals and looking for a warm body to blame his poor decisions on.

"Remember the Time We Hooked Up?": The Wolf in Flannel Trench

Bringing up old sex like it's a Netflix episode? Not friendly. Not curious. That's a predator checking if your moral compass is spinning. Your "I don't think about it" answer should've shut him down—instead he escalated, drunk and desperate to rewrite your "no" to a "maybe."

"I'm Not Saying No": The Drunk's Trap

You mumbled half-words in a fog. That ain't agreement. That's the drunk equivalent of waving a white flag of surrender while your body goes offline. He took the hint like a scavenger, not a partner—because your tipsy voice isn't a "yes." It's a warning shot.

"We Shouldn't": The Moment He Should've Quit

He kissed you. You kissed back. You broke down. Game over. His hands should've left your skin faster than a cheater in a poker game. But he stayed. Crept into your room. Crawled into your bed like a snake in a sleeping bag. That ain't passion. That's a predator claiming your unconscious body as territory.

"I Was Too Drunk to Wake Up": Your Body's Traitor

You came to in waves. Nausea, confusion, a rough finger sliding into you like a thief testing a safe. Your body responded—not because you wanted it. Because survival mode makes everything go haywire. Same with the wetness. Your body's trying to survive, not say "more." You're not broken. He is.

"I Was Hard": Blaming Your Drunkenness is a Lame Excuse

Your hand brushing his cock like an accident? He didn't stop. He played it like a slot machine payout. When you said "You're so hard"—he heard "yes." But it wasn't. That was your drunk brain's confused war cry, not a surrender flag.

"I Don't Remember": The Liar's Last Stand

He wipes his hands clean by pretending the night vanished. That's not forgetfulness. That's cowardice. When he says "don't tell your boyfriend," he's not asking for mercy. He's trying to weaponize your silence into his own guilt-free shield.

Why Cutting Ties is the Smartest Business Move

He'll keep spinning his story. But you aren't the liar here. You're the survivor. No need to hash things out. No need to let him back in with his fake remorse. That guy isn't sorry—he's terrified you'll call him out.

Get On the Phone. Now Don't Wait

Your body's reacting like a battlefield. This ain't something to swallow. Call 800-656-4673. These counselors don't deal in wishy-washy psych jargon. They're the real deal—people who've seen this mess too many times. You owe it to yourself to stop apologizing for being human in a war you didn't start. You didn't cheat. That prick took what he wanted while you were half-dead drunk. And now? It's time to burn the map he used.