“I Told My Boyfriend I Was Faking All of My Orgasms”
As my relationship with one guy got serious, I became trapped in my own lie.
I used to fake it. Since I started having sex, I’ve probably faked it more than I’ve eaten sandwiches. If you could win an Academy Award for faking it, I was Meryl Streep in the mid-’80s. My friends would yell at me when I’d discuss my latest critically acclaimed performance.
But, unlike me, they were all in serious relationships. It takes some pretty specific maneuvers to get me there, and I was afraid guys I was casually dating would think that was weird. What do you do when some poor guy you’re on a second date with has been going down on you for 45 minutes and it’s just not gonna happen? Tap him on the head and be like, “Hey, time’s up, I guess you’re not a real man who can satisfy me. Oh look, Conan is on!” No way.
But as my relationship with one guy got serious, I became trapped in my own lie, having trained him to think I could come easily and fast. He’d finish and whisper, “That was great.”
I’d concur but secretly be horny and annoyed. One night, I came clean on the phone. He admitted he was upset, sighing, “I hate that I’ve been with a girl who faked it.” “Well … I mean,” I heard myself picking at the scab but couldn’t stop. “I’m the first girl who’s admitted it to you…” “No, you’re the first,” he insisted. “How do you know for sure?” “They promised,” he said proudly, as if this meant anything.
Whatever, bro. Seinfeldian exchange notwithstanding, we liked each other enough to start over, and he didn’t flee when I communicated that my whole body wasn’t a clitoris. He’s my boyfriend now and knows exactly how to make me come. That is the story of how I stopped being Meryl in bed, and why you should too.