There is something a little ridiculous about faking an orgasm. Of all the things we could be doing in bed, we have apparently decided that sometimes the best course of action is to deliver an award-worthy performance.
And for what? To make someone feel good about themselves? To signal that everything is feeling great when, in reality, we are mentally reorganizing our grocery lists?
The reasons vary, of course. But the fact that faking an orgasm is a recognizable experience for so many women raises a question worth asking: Why can pretending to experience pleasure sometimes feel easier than admitting we aren't?
Welcome to the first installment of The Little Death, where we talk about sex, desire, and intimacy. And what better place to start than in the bedroom?
_____________________
Between porn, romantic comedies, and the cultural obsession with being good in bed, we've developed a pretty narrow idea of what satisfying sex is supposed to look like.
An orgasm becomes the ultimate seal of approval. If it happens, congratulations! You've had good sex. If it happens because of you, even better. Apparently, you've earned yourself a five-star review.
And for women, that can get complicated. An orgasm is a physical experience, obviously, but it can also become a form of reassurance. It tells a partner they've done something right, that the chemistry is there. Suddenly, something that should be about your own pleasure becomes about somebody else's performance.
Which raises another question: When did having a good time become something we had to prove?
Because once an orgasm becomes proof that the sex was good, not having one can start to feel like something you need to explain. Even if you were perfectly happy with the experience.
It's tempting to blame the whole thing on men's (or anyone’s) egos. And, sure, nobody wants to make someone they like feel as though they're terrible in bed. But I think the reasons are more complicated than that.
Maybe you don't want to hurt someone's feelings, or you aren't sure how to explain what you need. Maybe you're enjoying yourself, but an orgasm just isn't happening. Or maybe you're ready to call it a night without turning your bedroom into a conference room.
There is also something vulnerable about admitting that sex isn't working for you. Telling someone you like that they're not quite hitting the mark can feel less like a simple request and more like delivering a performance review.
I was curious whether anyone had actually studied why we do this, or whether we'd all just accepted it as one of those things women are supposed to navigate quietly.
A 2015 study published in Evolutionary Psychology explored why women pretend to orgasm with male partners. Researchers Mark G. McCoy, Lisa L. M. Welling, and Todd K. Shackelford developed an inventory that identified three broad categories of motivation: improving a partner's experience, deception and manipulation, and hiding sexual disinterest.
In other words, pretending isn't necessarily about one thing. The study doesn't tell us why women do it, but it does complicate the familiar assumption that faking an orgasm is always about protecting a man's (or anyone’s) ego.
What interests me most is the gap between what we're supposedly doing during sex and what we might actually be thinking about. We're told to prioritize our pleasure, embrace our sexuality, and communicate our desires. All good things! But apparently, we're also expected to make sure everyone else is having a good time, too.
And when those priorities collide, whose pleasure wins?
The problem with pretending is that, sometimes, the lie doesn't end when the encounter does.
Imagine telling someone that something feels incredible when it doesn't. They remember. The next time you're together, they do it again, reasonably assuming they've discovered one of your favorite things. You respond as expected, and whoops! You've accidentally created a signature move.
Now you're faced with the prospect of correcting a record you never meant to establish in the first place. How do you tell someone that the thing they've been congratulating themselves on for months has not, in fact, been working for you?
It's an awkward situation, and it's easy to understand how someone might end up there. A little white lie can feel harmless when you're in the middle of something that feels good. But repeated over time, it can become a routine that is hard to stop.
Of course, not every sexual encounter needs to end in an orgasm. Sometimes sex is lovely without being earth-shattering. Sometimes you're distracted, tired, or simply not in the mood for fireworks. An orgasm isn't the only measure of good sex, and the absence of one doesn't automatically mean something has gone wrong.
The issue is not that women sometimes don't climax. The issue is that we can feel pressure to pretend we have. Trust me, I’ve been there.
And I don't think the answer is to start policing how women experience pleasure, either. We don't need another set of rules telling us that we must orgasm, must communicate perfectly, or must turn every sexual encounter into an opportunity for self-improvement. Sex is already complicated enough without making it another thing we're supposed to get right.
I don't have a neat answer for any of this. I just think it's worth asking why something as personal as pleasure can become so wrapped up in making sure someone else feels good about themselves.
But I do wonder what would happen if we felt less pressure to perform.
What if admitting that something doesn't feel good wasn't treated as a rejection? What if we could say what we wanted without worrying that we'd bruised someone's ego?
Maybe the little lie isn't always about the orgasm itself. Maybe it's about everything we've learned to associate with it: being desirable, being a good partner, and avoiding disappointment.
I don't think every woman who has ever faked an orgasm owes anyone a confession. I don't think every encounter needs a postgame analysis. And I certainly don't think pleasure should become another performance we're expected to perfect.
But if intimacy is supposed to be a place where we can let our guard down, why can it sometimes feel easier to put on a performance than to tell the truth?