Conclusion of this unnecessarily sweary rant: you’re not an
awful bastard if you fake orgasms – no matter what your gender or your reasons,
this is a choice that you get to make for yourself. I’m not going to pass any
judgment on what it says about your sex life if one day you want to twitch your
genitals, roll your eyes, and Meg Ryan your way to climax. Even if you’re
fucking me - if you fancy putting a bit of AmDram into it, go right ahead. I’d
like to think I can tell, but wouldn’t we all? If you know the end’s a long way
away, but you also know I love it when you make those moany noises, then just
make the fucking moany noises already. It will, in all likelihood,
I care about this quite strongly because, as a young-un, I
used to fake orgasms quite a lot. Almost every single time. I probably faked
more orgasms than I had actual orgasms, even during a period when I was wanking
so frequently you’d have thought I had eczema of the clit. I faked, and I
pretended, and I loved every second of every minute of every fuck I was having.
But every time I scanned an article on sex tips it screamed at me: “do not fake
your orgasms! You are ruining your sex life! You are teaching your partner to
do the wrong things and basing your love on a lie!” So I’d fret and I’d stress
and I’d worry, and in the end I’d fake it anyway, because while I hated feeling
like a liar I loved it when he came.
One day, while I was making the noises and twitching my legs
and clamping my cunt down hard on his cock, it actually happened for real. The
climax started and I felt hotness swell from my knees to my crotch, waves of
happy-horny-oh-yes-don’t-stop-fuck-nnngggghhh-jesus-yes crashing hard up to my
chest, enveloping me in pleasure and surprising the fuck out of me.
He couldn’t tell, of course, but then I don’t think I really
needed him to.
No comments:
Post a Comment