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I’m told that when you’re about to get married, your wife knows pretty much everything about your life. Which makes sense, as you’re about to tie the knot and embark on what will (hopefully) be a lifetime of shared interests and experiences.

But one thing that fiancées are never allowed to witness—and often never hear the dirty details about—is the bachelor party.

So I asked some guys to anonymously share the things that happened at their bachelor party—those details that they would never want to share with their significant other:

“We did my bachelor party in my hometown because it made the most logistical sense. I’m from Pittsburgh, which is the kind of city that’s small enough that if you’ve spent a lot of your life there, you’ll probably run into somebody you know during a night out, especially if you’re bar-crawling to different venues like my friends and I were. Our last stop of the night was, predictably, a strip club. Just after we walked into the club, one of my friends screamed out, ‘OH, MY GOD, IT’S [name redacted]!’ A girl I had ‘dated’ in middle school was now working as a stripper. Of course, my friends insisted on my getting a lap dance from her. During it, we caught up and she told me about her husband. So yeah, that was a really weird and unexpected thing.”

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“I’m not a big drug guy, and my wife is very against anything beyond marijuana, so I would never tell her about what happened at my bachelor party. My best man took us all to a casino, and while we were there I snorted cocaine off the back of a toilet.”

“Oh, man. So my bachelor party was one of those ones that take place the day before the rehearsal dinner, so I was experiencing all the crazy thoughts that I think most guys go through right before getting married. It’s a big step. A bunch of us were sitting at a table at a bar, and I started talking about the worries I had about getting married. There were tears of fear and everything. It was nothing but cold feet, but I would never want my wife to know about it because she would probably get the wrong idea about what was going on.”

“I got blackout drunk at my bachelor party, as one does. I remember telling my best man many times during the planning of the party that I didn’t want to go to a strip club. They kept goading me into going to one, and I was kind of sick of it, so at one point I just drunkenly showed them a few pictures my wife had sent me when I was on a business trip. She was wearing lingerie, but she wasn’t naked. I was like, ‘This is why I don’t want to or need to go to a strip club.’ When I got home after the weekend, I proudly told my wife we hadn’t gone to a strip club, but I would never tell her how I convinced my friends that we really didn’t need to.”
 

“We went for a weekend in Vegas for my bachelor party because I had never been, and I’ve always been a social gambler, so it seemed like it’d be a good time. The gambling didn’t go well. I lost a lot of money, and I felt bad about it afterward. I could have used some of it to put a down payment on a house or other responsible adult things. Luckily, my wife and I hadn’t merged our bank accounts yet.”

“I got a lap dance during my bachelor party. From an Asian stripper. I’m not really into hedonism or wild excess, so I’d told my best man I wanted to just have a low-key get-together with the groomsmen and some of our other boys. But my best man, who had been my best friend through college, knew that I had always wanted to sleep with an Asian woman. I couldn’t do that, for obvious reasons, but I just went with it when they surprised me with an Asian stripper. It was just a lap dance, but I still don’t want my wife to know about it.”

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“As I got older and hit my thirties, I became less of a party person. When I met the love of my life, I became even less so. I didn’t feel a need to go out as much because when I was in my twenties, I would go out in hopes I would find a girl who wanted to hang out with me. Once I had that, I was fine with hanging out with her and watching Netflix on weekend nights. I would say things to her sometimes, though, about how I missed going out and getting buck-wild, even though I guess I really didn’t. My bachelor party ended up being really chill. My friends and I went to a karaoke place in Korea Town and were back to our hotel room by about 1 a.m. The most exciting part of the whole night was when my brother vomited while we were all singing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ If I told the wife that was the most exciting part of my party, she would never let me live it down. Mostly because I made up a bunch of stuff about how wild we got.”
 

“My bachelor party lasted an entire long weekend. My best men—both of my brothers—planned it. We rented a cabin in the Finger Lakes area of New York. The plan was to have a real sausage fest. We were going to drink booze, smoke weed, eat food, and golf for three straight days. Our first day there, we were on the 11th of 18 holes when a storm rolled in and we were forced off the golf course. We were back at the cabin, drinking beers and grilling on the covered porch, when the sky turned pitch black and all our phones went off with one of those emergency signals about a tornado warning. Then we saw a funnel cloud in the sky off in the distance. We all immediately freaked the f**k out and booked it inside to find places to hide. The cabin didn’t have a real basement—more of a crawl space. All 12 or so of us packed into that area and freaked out while we waited for the storm to pass. It wasn’t a very manly scene. I told my wife about the tornado, but I would never tell her about how a bunch of grown men were huddled together in a basement crawl space just hoping that they would live to get married.”
 

“I woke up in a car the morning after my bachelor party. I was in my boxers. I was also horrified. I had no memory of the night before, starting just after my dad bought me a double shot of Jager. I didn’t think I had done anything bad. I’m a sleepwalker, and I have been for years, so I just figured I’d sleepwalked out to the car, in my underwear, and passed out. As soon as I found enough clarity to come up with this story, my best friend Preston woke up in the front seat, and in a very manic way, tried to figure out where he was. Once we reconnected with our friends, we found out that Pres and I were upset about the sleeping arrangements in the hotel room. There were too many dudes, two of whom were passed out on the king size bed that was assigned to me. It was my party, okay? Sometimes I can be a diva. Anyway, we found out later that Pres and I had come downstairs to the lobby—both of us in just our boxer-briefs, me with a fifth of Johnnie Walker Black Label in my hand. We tried to get another room and couldn’t, so for some reason we decided to go pass out in a car instead of going back up to the room. It was funny because the guy who’d been working the night shift at the desk followed us outside and checked the car every hour or so to make sure we were alive. That’s great customer service.”