"I could have scooped the best actress, best sound effects and best visual effects Oscars without breaking a sweat (literally)."
How do you feel about real versus fake? (No, not handbags – get that mind into the gutter.) Recently I met my LBF (lesbian best friend) for dinner and we were chatting about her new girlfriend. Their relationship got off to a rollicking start when, on the second date, they nearly went to third base in Kings Cross station; they then “met for lunch” a couple of a days later and ended up doing *ahem* dine in for two, the minxes.
“So how was it??” I ask, leaning over to give her a fist pump.
“Yeah… it was… good. But I… erm… faked,” she says sheepishly.
“No! No, no, no – if you fake she won’t have a clue what to do.”
“I know,” she nods. “I just… felt really awkward. Like I had to or it would have been weird – you know?”
As an ex-hetero I was a prolific faker back in the day. I could have scooped the best actress, best sound effects and best visual effects Oscars without breaking a sweat (literally). It’s not as though I was even close - if I was in London then my orgasm was somewhere in Massachusetts having a Big Mac (and probably checking out the girl next to me).
I felt huge pressure to deliver the goods so I faked over and over and over again. Faking became as natural to me as brushing my teeth or going to sleep. Then as I got older I got greedy; I clamoured for my own pleasure and started bringing my vibrator and rabid imagination to bed with me.
After I came out I assumed my fauxgasms were behind me, and yet I’ve still felt the occasional pressure to put on a show for my after dinner guests. Even if you’re wildly attracted to someone and they’ve got all the moves, for some women it can take a while to relax enough to hit the high notes.
At those times it can be hugely tempting to fake but all you’re doing is setting your partner up for a fall when you tell them that, actually, you’re more likely to sustain a serious back injury whilst scissoring then you are to have an orgasm. At that point you’ve created a whole bunch of trust issues and cheated yourself out of some bonefide, thigh-trembling, booty-slapping good times.
So next time you’re in someone’s bed, just be honest: after all, it’s not your fault that sometimes your orgasms play hard to get. If she’s any kind of women she’ll welcome you with open arms (and legs) and coax those lovely orgasms out, one bonk at a time.
As for me, I’ve left my fakes right where they belong – in the closet.
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