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Deranged Sorority Girl

My First Double Blowjob

By Rebecca Martinson

Image courtesy of the author

If you’ve used the internet in the last seven months, you know who I am. If you’ve noticed a sudden resurgence of the term “cunt punt” in daily conversation, if you’ve watched the Michael Shannon video where he spits off enough swear words to make his parents spin in their graves like hurricanes, or if you’re one of the lucky souls who were matched up with me on Tinder, you know who I am.

I'm Rebecca Martinson, the so-called deranged sorority girl.

But let's cut the shit. I know that 60 percent of you will read this, call me a slut, and think, What kind of fucked-up household did this girl live in? To answer your question, I lived on a nice street in a nice neighborhood in a nice suburb of Maryland. Everything around me was boring. There was nothing to do. There's still nothing to do. The most interesting part of my family is my parents keep the house at 50 degrees during winter to save on heating bills. My family is the definition of Waspy—obviously I’m not included in that dictionary entry.

Because there was nothing to do in my hometown besides walk around the mall and say “Let’s go check out the clearance racks at Abercrombie & Fitch,” my classmates and I had sex. All the time. Everywhere. Even the weird kids in my high school received handjobs in the back of AP Calculus, busting loads on the chemistry textbooks they would need later that day. It wasn't even because we wanted to fuck all the time—it was because everyone was so bored, we thought, Hey, we might as well diddle each other and see who gets caught first. But after a certain point, screwing around during class got old. Once we realized our teacher had an online Scrabble addiction and the fucking pope could walk into the classroom with all the Cardinals and our teacher would never notice, we no longer found sex exciting. But we continued fucking in college, and I ended up dating Douchebag during my freshman year at UMD.

I know the stereotype about girls falling for jackasses, but that’s not how our relationship started. I could have done better than Douchebag. Although he was a nice guy, he wasn’t the smartest or the best looking. (If I hadn’t come along, he’d still be a virgin.) I’ve been told I have a tendency to “date down,” but other than that I don’t have any way to justify our relationship other than to say that I’m fucking stupid. This is also probably why I convinced my best friend—we'll call her Kiki—to blow Douchebag.

The first semester of freshman year, Kiki and I drove up from Virginia Tech, where we had been partying, to spend a couple of nights blacking out at UMD, where I actually go to school. I told Kiki I’d give her a free bottle of Burnett's if she blew my boyfriend. A handle of Burnett's costs around $15, which was about $2.6 million to us, considering we were college freshman who had no clue how to budget and had already spent $900 drunk-eating Papa John's in one semester. To us, cheap-ass liquor was like golden liquid inside a diamond-encrusted bottle. Who wouldn't suck a dick for that?

Around 8:30 PM, Kiki and I arrived at Douchebag’s dorm room. His room was a dump. The poor kid lived in a triple, a tiny room meant to be shared by three students, so we had the pleasure of making awkward conversation with Douchebag’s roommates as we waited for him. His cool roommate was gone, but his other roommate was still in the room. This roommate was pasty—not pasty as in pale, but pasty as in there was nothing interesting about him and if you put him next to a jar of Miracle Whip and left me in a room with him and the jar, you’d find me chatting with the inanimate condiment and not him.

Eventually, Douchebag arrived and kicked this piece of shit out of the room, and the three of us were the only ones left. We pounded shots. (I wasn’t going to give a double blowjob sober. Do I look like a fucking hooker?) After eight or so shots, Kiki called quits on the booze and decided it was time to earn that handle of vodka.

Douchebag dropped trou.

He did the pants dance, shuffled his boxers to his knees, and then suddenly, there was his dick.

I went down on him first, because I was the luck lady dating this winner. A smashed Kiki tried to wrap her lips around his dick but then there was a plot twist...

Douchebag couldn't get his dick up.

I don’t know how he couldn’t get a boner. I distinctly recall him refraining from chugging vodka so he could get it up. I distinctly recall licking Kiki's right nipple for no reason whatsoever other than that we were both hammered and topless. I also distinctly recall Kiki giving up, because if two moderately attractive topless girls can't get you hard, what will?

I really wish this story ended with a climax, a threesome, or Kiki and me getting it on since Douchebag couldn’t carry his weight. (To be fair, his dick was big and a lot of weight to carry.) Instead, Kiki grabbed a box of Lucky Charms and sprayed the cereal around the room like a popped bottle of champagne, and Douchebag and I did something that was unmemorable.

Sadly, not every night ends in orgies and cocaine.

@becca_martie

More wild girls:

Coke Sex for Teen Sluts

Orgasms: Where R They

Thank U for Touching Me

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