By Mélisande Deschenel
I believe in fake orgasms. I believe in them for the greater good of the moment.
Now do not get me wrong, I do not believe in the over-stretched O, seizure-like, tinnitus-inducing kind. Those are just stupid. They’re patently faked and an insult to any sexual being and they’re at their worst in free group porn videos. I click on it. I think, okay, this will be hot. A group of people getting off like at the end of Perfume, the movie.
Instead I find myself mildly terrified. Girl #1, you’re screaming because he keeps punching your fake tits in and you have four more videos to make with CUMsplashzXXX.com before you can pay those uninsured fun bags off. Girl #2, no one’s even touching you. You’re having an existential crisis over whether to leave the vid or give this potential rim job to an arsehole that stares at you like the Nietzschean abyss. Well now my laptop battery is dead and my labia have shriveled into my body.
For me, good sex has confidence and respect and sometimes faking orgasms breeds the former and is a sign of the latter. Confidence is notoriously difficult to build unless you’ve been born with a wealth of it and have had it cultivated during your life by parents, friends and stalkers. I’m a loser and I had none of the aforementioned. Sob story over; I live my life aspiring to the boundless confidence of a mediocre white man but my low self-esteem means that doesn’t usually happen. Trying your best when going down on someone and having them lie perfectly still and quiet or perhaps only grunting every so often in dissatisfaction or pulling your head one way or the other doesn’t build confidence. In fact it makes you feel pretty shit, completely inadequate and like, to quote Tai from Clueless, “Just a virgin who can’t drive.”
It might just be neurotic me but I’m already insecure about my sex skills.
Even my mum’s heard of a multiple orgasm.
I’m hyperaware that the holy fuck trinity of Fleshlights, Tinder and Artificial Intelligence Vibrators are conniving to make my pussy, tongue and other love-giving bits extinct as soon as possible. I will never be as tight, as easy nor as expert as them. I’ve also just come back from Japan so I know what’s out there (the future is a bright post-orgasmic haze, darlings).
We have to cut each other some slack in the sack and sometimes that means pretending you are enjoying yourself when actually you’re pretty much asleep and would like to close your legs and sleep more comfortably on your side.
Dibs on big spoon!
I’ve just eaten a chip butty, so I might still be high on that delicious carb-on-carb action, but I believe in the good of human beings. They tend to mean well but they’ve been fucked up so now they fuck up.
How do people get fucked up? Well, if you’re like me you spent your teenage years memorizing Cosmo’s heterosexual sex tips in a conservative, Anglican all-girls boarding school when you were actually wonky and in hiding. In hiding from bullies and in the fact that the picture of Xena Warrior Princess on your wall is not about a fine appreciation of skilled combat.
But back to the tips. Those tips were hard to learn and harder to follow. Usually you had to be in a plane toilet, in a white straight relationship with one leg over your head and your face in the guy’s crotch using just the underside of your tongue and your frenulum to bring him to earth-moving, halting, screeching climax.
Then there were the plain absurd ingestion requirements like eating only Fisherman’s Mints and drinking cranberry juice* for three days to make sure your vulva is toothache sweet and your mouth trap is minty fresh and so clean clean.
And only then could you to give him the bestest blowie of his life.
So you come out of this situation thinking you know about sex but as soon as you have sex you actually realise how clueless you are. Especially about sex with women. You should have spent less time reading the Bible and more time masturbating but hey we grow up in Africa, it’s hard. There’s no such thing as privacy for the budding teenage queer.
Actually for anyone who isn’t considered an adult.
As soon as you get the chance to have sex your fragile sex ego is bound to get shattered unless you are having sex with people who can nurture it and help you become a sex ninja. Thinking back to before I moved to a sexual desert, the best sex of my life has been tactful adventures and experiments in desire, often handed down by a woman who knows what they like. Ever wondered why sometimes people refuse to perform sex acts? It could be they’ve gotten a harshly negative response and now they’re too afraid to try.
For me the faked orgasm belongs to a specific place and time. I think it’s useful in nascent or current relationships. It has no place in the one night stand; you came here to get yours. Pretend at your peril and end up crying away your sexual tension and expensive eye make-up until you fall to sleep.
Now that’s all cleared up here’s what to do. When someone does something sexually weird or perhaps un-thrilling, repress the urge to shout, slap hand away or anything unnecessarily harsh. Politely, pretend to be finished quick enough so you don’t sustain any injury. A simple ah-AH-oh is enough. maybe girded by some mumble moans. Any sounds resembling giving birth or choir practice should be avoided. I mean you don’t want to give the wrong message. Sounding over-enthusiastic will make them do the thing you’re not interested in again. Talk about mixed messages.
What we want is the constructive criticism equivalent of an orgasm. The small dummy orgasm should say, “Hey I like you. I respect the amount of effort, albeit misguided, you’re putting in here, that’s nice. We’ll have a chat about some of my favourite things later so the sequel to this film can be better than the original.”
At the same time you don’t want to be clearly faking.
I was in an ensuite bathroom once at a party being moody and I heard a couple having sex and got stuck and couldn’t leave. One of the women sounded terribly unenthused. She made this weird sound a couple minutes in that sounded exactly like a door creaking. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkk. The action stopped dead. It was already a terribly awkward situation but that sound was so awful, I blushed for them.
Anyway, now you’ve “come” so your sex grasshopper has probably moved on to something else. Look I don’t know your sex ways, that’s not me peeping in the window, I promise. But now you can show them what you like on you by doing it on them or wait to have a post-sex chat while your cigarettes are lit and you are lying in each others’ arms. So in the end, everyone ends up having more sex, everyone ends up having better sex and feelings are navigated carefully with egos left intact.
*The cranberry juice thing does work. Cosmo was right one time. Fine.
For more pieces on orgasms read this one on why coming is so so necessary.
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