Rebecca Martinson: My First Double Blowjob

Deranged Sorority Girl

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 Ilook 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

Why Sorority Girl Rebecca Martinson Writing About Double Blowjobs is Terrible for Ladies and Completely Our Fault

Rebecca Martinson, “the deranged sorority girl” who introduced the term “cunt punt” to the lexicon this year, is now a published author. The University of Maryland student has been making regular appearances on bro-breeding grounds like Total Frat Move and Bro Bible with columns like, “How to Get Better Head From Your Slam.” That delicate manifesto urges men seeking better oral sex to “say something insulting” and “pull her hair when you do it, because in the end your goal is to increase her worth to men.” Which: What?
As a young woman who occasionally writes about sex for a male audience, I’m not offended by Martinson giving sex advice to the masses so much as her urging of men (or “Bros”) to be violent towards women. As a disclaimer at the end of that article, Martinson indicates she’s being “sarcastic,” but that sarcasm might be lost on that audience. Even if Martinson is taking on an embellished persona, the medium is still the message. Sites likeTotal Frat Move and Barstool Sports have established a reputation for derogatory-bordering-on-sociopathic stances towards women, and Martinson does nothing to distance herself from that idealogy. At all. In fact, she’s taking on that voice, leaving us to assume she shares that same mysoginistic viewpoint. If, like me, you’re looking for any reason to step to Martin’s defense as an even marginally self-aware human, her latest gem published on Vice this weekend, “My First Double Blowjob,” doesn’t do that defense any favors.

If college girls skip Eve Ensler and subscribe to Martinson’s Twitter feed instead, they might be fooled into thinking that this is what sexual empowerment looks like.”

If anything, it only serves to draw a distinction between Martinson and others who are writing on sex. For years, Dan Savage has long advocated embracing fetishes and being “game for anything” in his column Savage Love. BloggerKarley Sciortino of Slutever urges women to do “what makes you feel good.” But neither are writing about salacious subjects solely for audacity’s sake. Instead, they’re celebrating sexuality and all the weirdness it entails. And that’s great.
But it’s not great when, like Martinson’s done, women exploit their sexuality for our approval, because they’re on the losing side of that deal.
And Martinson isn’t alone in her misadventures. Vodka Samm traded her chances at finding gainful employment post-college for a handle of vodka, and a young girl from Britain resorted to slut-shaming herself in exchange for bragging rights as “Britain’s Horniest Student.”
Why are women trading self-respect for rewards this petty? Because they don’t seem so small in an age where influence is more sought after than money. Martinson has three columns and counting, 11K followers on Twitter,and a forthcoming book on a Simon & Schuster imprint. She’s offering up this crude brand of Tucker Max-esque sexuality because it’s paying off.
If college girls skip Eve Ensler and subscribe to Martinson’s Twitter feed instead, they might be fooled into thinking that this is what sexual empowerment looks like:

Only, it’s not funny when you make that joke at your own expense—because doing so is at the expense of other women, too. Women cracking jokes about taking three dicks and bragging about double blow jobs until they’ve gained a social media following and a column on the Internet is something that may read as fame and success to a generation using social media “likes” to measure self-worth. Do really we want women like Martinson to be the new face of sexual liberation?

Look: I’m not a prude, nor am I against double blow jobs on principle. But there’s something to be said for nuance, like the difference between speaking frankly about enjoying sex as a means of expressing sexual confidence vs. shilling out your sexuality for a few RTs.

Do we want women like Martinson to be the new face of sexual liberation?

Not to say she’s “deranged,” as Gawker first labeled her, but our go-to assumption when women write things like this—

“Assuming you hit some sort of skank jackpot and this poor girl actually has no self respect whatsoever, you can actually do whatever you want. Stick it in her butt, shoot cum up her nose and have her blow it out into a tissue then eat it…let your imagination run wild.”

—is to wonder if she actually knows what she’s doing.
Even if we humor Martinson’s assertion that she’s being “sarcastic,” does that excuse her encouraging men to pursue women with low-self esteem? You can’t just write that off as satire. While there’s a danger in shaming women who express their sexuality, planting awful, rapey seeds—even in jest—is warping what sexual freedom really means.
When a young, attractive girl in the middle of her college years writes an article about paying a friend in $15 worth of booze to give her boyfriend oral sex, who’s to blame?
In short: We are. We gave her a platform, exalted her as an Internet personality, and followed her on Twitter. We gave her the social media seal of approval.
And she’s not the first one we’ve “liked” simply for being scandalous. A recent example: Miley Cyrus, another young woman whose sexual bravado has thrust her into the spotlight (pun intended, of course). But, perhaps Martinson sums up the issue best herself:

Cyrus claiming ownership over her sexuality is wonderful. If Cyrus has suppressed her inner-ingénue and has only now came to a place where she feels brave enough to let her freak flag fly, it’s worth supporting. But, if Miley decided to up the sexual ante for fame, her efforts are thrown in a harsh light of “patently misguided.” Then again, can you blame her? Cyrus successfully jumpstarted her career’s second life with a wagging tongue, an inappropriately placed foam finger, and sheer sexual moxie. We’re the ones validating her relevance with every YouTube view.
Somehow, we’ve already sent Martin the message that being an Internet shock-jockey and writing about double blow jobs is the only way to get our attention. And, if the women in our lives are watching and thinking, “I CAN DO THAT” we’ve failed. For the sake of our siblings, friends, and lovers: There’s gotta be a better way.

The Deranged Sorority Girl’s Guide to Your First Double Blowjob

Unlike Martinson, you would never:

Live on a nice street in a nice neighborhood in a nice suburb of Maryland

With a family that’s the definition of Waspy

FYI: Definition of waspy is: A white, usually Protestant member of the American upper social class.

Who spends their free time in high school browsing mall clearance racks at Abercrombie & Fitch

And instead decides what the hay, I’ll just have sex

A lot of sex

All the time

Everywhere

We all will

Even the weird kids

Will get handies in the back of AP Calculus

P.S.: You weren’t smart enough to take AP Calc

You don’t even know what a logarithm is

You sometimes think it’s the same thing as longitude

Or even an algorithm

But that’s dumb, huh?

You weren’t fucking everyone all the time because you wanted to fuck all the time

That would be obvious

You were fucking all the time because you were bored

HUGE DIFFERENCE OK

It was like:

Hey, we might as well diddle each other and see who gets caught first

Is that like Hey, diddle diddle

No one fucked a cat though.

Eventually, fucking got old, though, as it is wont to do because no one got caught

Because who cares about secret fucking if teach is not even paying attench?

Not me

Not you

Not the ‘burbs of Maryland either

The Pope and all the Cardinals could walk into your orgy of handies in class and no one would care

That’s America

That’s being young in America today

Sex like that — where the Pope doesn’t even care — is the definition of boring sex

Time to spice that shit up with a venge.

Only Pope-offending sex going forward, you vow

Wait, no, just keep fucking regular-styles in college anyway

It’s fucking college, after all

OK this part you know: You would date a douchebag freshman year. It’s like, a rite of passage.

Why did you do that?

Because you’re fucking stupid.

You date down.

You have no good excuses.

This is when you get the bright idea that because he’s a douche and you’re stupid you can solve all the problems of the universe by getting your friend to blow him. Like, I guess so.

You know, your friend KiKi, who blows guys for booze?

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 freshmen 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?

No one would not suck a dick for that.

Look, here’s the thing: I guess I don’t get why it punishes the guy to double up on him like that with another girl. Like, if the thing is, he’s a douchebag, then why would you want to give a douchebag a double beej? Or ANY beejes of any persuasion. How about a no beej for douches rule?

Maybe it’s like this weird thing where you are already in the rabbit hole and you have to go even further in. Like, way deep. Like the only way out is through? I guess I’ve beejed my way out of a problem like anyone.

But so anyway, do you think the douchebag lived in a nice place?

Nah, it was a fuckin’ dump.

Poor kid lived in a triple

I want that to be a song lyric.

His roommate was soooo pale like Miracle Whip (That should be a song lyric too)

Because only people with tans are good

Is what I always say before a dub-beej

This is a cool sentence: I wasn’t going to give a double blowjob sober. Do I look like a fucking hooker?

I don’t know about things, OK? And I don’t want to insult a hooker by implying she could give a double beej sober or that it’s bad, because maybe either nobody can give a double beej sober or maybe we all should be able to, you know? But ostensibly a hooker can do all the sex things sober. That’s why she’s good at being a hooker right?
Or maybe the thing about double blowjobs is that they are weird drunk but kind of great sober. Maybe the thing about them is that if you just open your eyes, and your heart, and your mouth to them, you’ll see that they can be pretty intimate, maybe the kind of intimacy that offers a new understanding on the other side that you just can’t get from going it alone. Again, that’s just armchair.
It took eight shots. For them to amass the courage to double up. Everyone, just remember: Eight shots. You’ll need probably all eight of them. I wouldn’t treat this like a recipe from online that you can just spitball. Don’t take any chances.
BUT THIS WOULD TOTALLY HAPPEN TO YOU: He did the pants dance, shuffled his boxers to his knees, and then suddenly: there was his dick.
I love how it’s, like, a description.
If you were about to give a dude a double beej with your bestie, do you think you would go first? Or would you let your friend go first? I actually never thought of this until now. How would you decide? Squatters rights, that’s what.
Ergo, Rebecca Martinson went first. I think that’s noteworthy. She took one for the team. She knew when it was her turn to warm up a dick. If dicks are as lazy as say, sororities during rush, and they need stiffening, I think she would know what to do with them. And she did. She went in and warmed it up like someone who has to because they are accountable. I think that makes sense.
Oops, wait, no, that didn’t happen:

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?

What will, indeed. That is the question.
Rebecca Martinson wishes the story ended with a climax. I think I can speak for all of us when I say, so do we, who cares what those studies about no orgasms say.
But perhaps the anticlimax means the trick is on us.
A commenter says:
Whatever happened to the passion you put in that email? Girl, this was half-baked.
Another one said: What is this shit?
But a smarter person said this:

I find it funny that people would complain about the quality of an article entitled “My First Double Blowjob”.Let’s be honest here guys… did you click on this link for in-depth investigative reporting?Were you expecting Hemingway? You saw the words Double Blow job…and you clicked on it. Own it.

Troo.