I’ve Never Faked An Orgasm
Yes, it’s true. On the heels of this ridiculous study revealing that 60% of women have faked orgasms – and many of them did so because of what these “scientists” call sexual “issues” – I feel that I must stand up for those of us females who have never faked orgasms. While I have certainly dealt (and continue to deal) with my fair share of your standard and less-standard sexual “issues” – insecurity about my body, performance anxiety, fear of objectification, fear of developing unrequited or generally unwelcome “feelings,” fear of rejection, the very real fear of being physically harmed in some way, fear of pregnancy and STDs, the list goes on and on and on – I can say with confidence that, in my seven years of having intercourse and approximately nine years of having non-sex, I have never, ever faked an orgasm. I hope I’m not that rare. I hope I can check back in a couple hours and find comment after comment of women saying, “Me too! I never fake it!” Here’s our story, the non-fakers. Or at least the story of this non-faker, some proverbial bedpost notches that have demarcated my life of non-faking.
I’ve been very sexual my entire life. I can remember as a very young child being curious about sex scenes in movies and feeling aroused (even though I was too young to know that’s what I was actually feeling) by what little I was able to glean from television shows like Degrassi High (don’t ask me why my parents let me watch this) and films like Pauly Shore’s Son in Law (I know, so mortifying, but that scene where they’re about to get it on in the barn or whatever really excited me as a young’n). I don’t think I even knew “fake” orgasms existed until long after I began having sexual relations. I think because I have always been so friendly with my own sexuality – I had my first orgasm when I was in the seventh grade, and (ooh! that was fun!) many more soon after – it literally never occurred to me to pretend to feel something I didn’t actually feel. At the risk of sounding supremely annoying, sexual pleasure always came naturally to me. My “issues” arose later, so they never had the chance to cut me off pre-come… so to speak.
Which brings me to my second point: I can’t fake anything, really. I inherited from my mother the complete inability to lie or pretend anything. If she’s unhappy, everyone in the room knows it. If she’s enjoying something, everyone in the room knows it. Her face cannot tell lies, and neither can mine. Of course I can vocally lie, but my face gives away my untruth and soon it’s discovered and I’m forced to spill the beans. This trait, of course, has both its advantages and its pitfalls. If I tried to fake an orgasm, my partner would know immediately what I was up to. Sure, I could fake screams and moans, but unless I covered my face completely with my hands, soon to follow would likely be a question from my concerned partner: are you faking it? For better or worse, I really am just a horrid, horrid liar.
For the most part, with the exception of random hook-ups and one-night stands, I’ve chosen to be with partners who legitimately care about my sexual pleasure. My first sexual experience with another person was with my first boyfriend, who I was very much in love with and who was in love with me. I think this is a huge factor. At least partially because of the standard he set, I consider it a minimal requirement that my partner wants to please me, and that, if he’s not, we can work on it and improve our techniques to make sure we are both happy. If he’s doing something and I can tell that I’m not going to come, I kindly implore him to stop or try to gently direct him differently. It’s all about communication.
I also have no qualms about getting myself off, either in private or in the company of another. In fact, especially during intercourse – not so much during oral, for obvious reasons – I have to help myself along if I’m going to achieve orgasm. I’ve never been with a dude who didn’t like this. They have all liked watching me get off, whether it’s by their own hand (ha), by my own, or by a combination of both. This probably relates back to my initial point about being in tune with my body. I’ve never felt that’s it’s “dirty” or “wrong” to touch myself. I imagine this has gone a long way in my never faking orgasms.
I see sex, similarly to life, as an often perplexing combination of taking responsibility for your own happiness and working together with others to achieve that happiness. I see myself as solely responsible for my happiness, but I also want the joy that comes from working with others to secure that happiness and help it to flourish. Sex is no different – I take responsibility for my experience, orgasms included, and if I don’t communicate what I want to my partner, then ultimately my disappointment falls on me. I’m learning more and more that communication is the key to everything worth having in life, and on a short list of things worth having, I’m inclined to include both fulfilling sex and orgasms. I don’t expect anyone to hand me happiness on a platter, and I similarly don’t expect anyone to hand me orgasms. I create my own orgasms. They are mine, and I own them.
Let’s own our orgasms.
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Unfriending someone sends a strong message, it’s a symbolic, “constructive notification,” that the nature of your relationship has, for one reason or another, changed.
“Honey, look at this, listen to me.”
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