Singled Out: Faking the Orgasm

I couldn't have started March on a grander note than busting one of my best friends in flagrant offense as she walked the fabulous walk of shame with her unidentified criminal accomplice following right behind.

Awww those precious Kodak moments always bringing a little smile on my face...truly priceless!

Here's what happened: said friend - Amber - lives in my neighborhood. As I proceeded to take my trash out, I coincidently bumped into Amber and what obviously seemed to be her "I got lucky" companion. Mind you, while Amber is way over the age of sleepovers, I'm not sure the companion was.

This was the part where I could audibly hear my friend Larry belch: "step away from the cradle." Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely not judging or condemning Amber's behavior of what I think I know happened the night before. I'm just reporting the facts. And to prove that I am indeed Switzerland here, I will briefly digress to give a thumbs-up shout out to salute my friend's cougar prowess: Yeah Amber ... Kudos to you!

Not a word was spoken but sarcastic communicative stares were certainly exchanged. Mine was silently letting her know "you got some explaining to do" while hers was ensuring me that I would be receiving THE phone call later for the full and complete 411 of her nocturnal activities.

Later came sooner than the anticipated ETA, which I had ball-parked to be effectuated at about an hour or more post the actual bust. Clearly I had to take into account a few itinerary factors such as rush hour traffic, dropping off booty-call at her residence, a quick drive through Starbucks for a necessary caffeine fix, and of course, the majestic arrival at the office after a brief public restroom detour for hair and make-up touch ups.  The grand total time for this lah-de-dah voyage should have amounted to a little over sixty minutes. But miraculously my blackberry rang within fifteen minutes after Amber's take off.

I will not go into the details of our conversation because evidently not only are they confidential but objectively inconsequential and fundamentally generic - who among us members of the "been there, done that" club has not deliciously experienced the euphoric excitement, moral guilt and dirty feeling of a one-night stand?


But what was particularly interesting in this conversation --and the very reason why I am now writing about it - was Amber's adamant conviction that her pillow-talk partner left more than satisfied of her performance.

Considering the fact that the female species is known to be the absolute master in the art of deceiving, lying and manipulating, can one woman really know if her female partner is faking? For centuries women have been brilliantly fooling men with their extraordinary aptitude in the faking department, yet what happens when two women get together? Just like you can't teach old dog new tricks, can a lesbian know when she becomes the one who's being faked on? Simply put, how do you know you've been punk'ed? It's not like Ashton Kutcher would come out from under the bed to tip you off - although if it were up to me, I'd much prefer to be delivered the breaking news by Demi Moore, it would certainly make my failure more digestible.

The real question cogitating in my head is what in PR terms we call the four "W" denominators - who, when, where and why.

more on next page...

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Take me for instance. I faked it! And not once but numerous times. Granted, I mainly practice my magician's optical illusion expertise during my straight days. Yet, against all odds, not too long ago, I was forced as well to resurrect my craft with my then girlfriend. I want to stress the fact that it was absolutely unintentional, unpredicted and that evidently my actions were not motivated by the same reasons as when I had a boyfriend.

With guys it was selfishly a matter of expediting the overall "just to get it over with" process to avoid unnecessary physical fatigue, waste of precious time, not to mention unwanted soreness, irritation and prolonged discomfort of the below the belt area. C'mon you can certainly, if not relate, at least, empathize with me especially when dealing with one of those circumstantial ordeals - like on a school night when your brain had already made up its mind that no climactic resolution would be reached and that your eyes kept staring in a panic at the clock about to the hit the 3:00am marks and you thought to yourself: "damn it, I have to wake up in couple of hours." Faking then urgently became my ultimate emergency assistance - sort of like the CPR of sex.

But with that one particular ex-girlfriend, the faking was totally selfless and exercised out of consideration for her feelings. Somehow I found myself cursed with a monumental sexual block that unfortunately dragged on over the course of the first three months of our relationship. My super sexy therapist suggested that perhaps because I was so consciously physically attracted to her, as reverse psychological effect, I unconsciously sabotaged the livelihood of my orgasmic success. I was just being protective and took the precautious measures to avoid making her feel inadequate.

But as much as I am positively convinced that my self-inflicted mental indisposition had absolutely nothing to do with the quality of her performance, I am likewise confident that I convinced her - every single time - she had indeed brought her mission to completion.

Seriously, how could she have thought otherwise?! And if I may say so myself, I was absolutely impressed by the caliber of my own delivery and had I not being the one acting the part, would have totally been duped into believing in the genuineness of the faking.

And all the symptomatic cues were present - including but not limited to -- heavy breathing,  acceleration of pace, loud moaning, biting of partner's shoulder, clawing at the bed, rolling back of eyes, muscle spasms, finger clenching, trembling, releasing of satisfactory sighs and catching of breath - cigarette smoking optional!
So what about all of the above? Well, to quote Julia Louis-Dreyfus in her Seinfeld's Elaine Benes character: Fake, fake, fake and FAKE!

This is what I call the subtle difference between "based on a true story" and "inspired by real events" - the first one has to be a hundred percent accurate while the latter has the luxury of benefiting from the white lie euphemism known as embellishment.

Is it really such a big deal to fake it when you have at heart to preserve your partner's sensitive feelings and vanity? Wasn't I in the end doing her a favor by saving valuable time and energy on a physically draining cardio workout that I knew would not culminate in hitting my desired target heart-rate zone?

Here's the good news: we're women ...we're expected to fake it! Believe me, it's happened - maybe not all the time but certainly some of the time. We're like super heroes blessed with a super human power - and to willingly being obliged to not use it would be ridiculously absurd.

So why even bother to figure out who's faking, why, how and when?
You either just give it all you've got and pray for the best, or else fake it ... eventually you will make it - I know I did!

Miss the last Singled Out? Read it here!