I’m a compulsive liar. During any given conversation, I’m bound to spout off at least one fabricated, entirely unnecessary gem. Without rhyme or reason, I effortlessly brainwash friends, family and perfect strangers into believing whoppers of pure fiction entirely for my own pleasure. Sometimes it’s little more than lying about my name, my past fist-fighting experience or convincing people that I’m more vampire than human. My transparent skin helps with that one. Nine times out of 10 it goes off without a hitch — it’s one of my finer, more honed skills in life. I don’t know what provokes me. Maybe it’s the power of knowing that I can get away with it, maybe I just like having the upper hand in the honesty department. Whatever the reason, I just get off on the art of lying.
But that’s about all that gets me off.
My best lies are the theatrical climaxes that have duped the slampieces in my life for years. I’ve been sexually active for about five years and have orgasmed once. Two months ago. And it wasn’t from p-in-v sex. (Only about 25 percent of women can orgasm from vaginal intercourse. Fun fact.) It was thanks to a really dedicated below the belt tongue-lashing. It was (sex) life changing. The leg shaking, back arching sensation was so incredibly foreign and surprising that I was left tripping over repeated “thank yous”, rendering me blind to the fact that I had just voided years of perfectly executed bedroom con-artistry. Poor guy had no idea I’d been consistently faking it for over two years. Sorry ‘bout it.
According to a recent survey of 5,865 individuals by Indiana University’s Center for Sexual Health Promotion, there’s some real discrepancy when it comes to female satisfaction in the bedroom. Eighty-five percent of men reported that they believed that their most recent partner orgasmed during sex. Lies. Only 64 percent of women validated their egocentric claims.
On a more startling note — and likely at the root of lots of faked o’s — one third of women surveyed actually experienced genital pain during their romp in the sack as compared to a measly five percent of men. If you’re not going to give him a how-to manual on clitoris operation, you should probably vocalize genuine discomfort. But we’ve been so hardwired by social media bombardment that, even while on the polar opposite end of blissfully climaxing, we still make sure that his precious male ego isn’t damaged. So thoughtful.
Moral of the story: Apart from fun role-playing and dirty talk, I think we’d all do ourselves a favor by taking the theatrics out of the bedroom. Figure out what works for you and don’t hesitate to turn into a GPS to your orgasmic end destination. Maybe if I didn’t fake it I’d have had orgasm No. 2 by now (a girl can dream).
There are lots of reasons that women fake their pillow biting and back clawing. Studies show that over 70 percent of women have faked it at one time or another. Personally, it’s usually because I just want the guy to stop dripping sweat on my boobs and fruitlessly jackhammering away. If it’s not going to happen, I know pretty early on in the thrusting.
While I don’t condone lying to your partner, I’ve found that feigned porn star-esque “finishes” go over so much better than a reassuring pat on the back and directions to dismount. Penis pride leaves little room for even the faintest shadow of a doubt about their prowess between the sheets. Ask any of the guys I’ve slept with and I can almost guarantee that they’ll swear, come hell or high water, that they rocked my world. I even had a guy comment on how cute he thought my orgasm face was — well, that’s awkward because that’s just my normal, kind of bored face. I wonder what my professors must think.
I hear guys fake it too. Not that that means anything to me though. I totally know none of my hook-ups have ever faked it. I’d definitely know. I mean, they all looked like they came and they sure sounded like it. Did I search for evidence? Well … no. But they’re always grabbing onto the headboard and making lots of noise — it’s a dead giveaway. I mean, I’m nothing short of a sex goddess (let’s face facts) so there’s really no surprise there. They’re definitely not faking it. I’d know.
The Preacher’s Daughter is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Decent Exposure appears alternate Thursdays this semester.