After welcoming my child into the world, the thought of resuming intimacy after that six-week break was daunting. I was uncertain about what to expect and not exactly feeling my best in terms of body image. Sure, my partner had witnessed me in various states of undress since our little one arrived—like that time I roamed around the house with a breastfeeding pillow strapped to me, resembling a flotation device. Still, the dynamic felt altered, and I was apprehensive. Would things function as they used to? Would it feel the same?
As I approached that first post-baby encounter, I was plagued by those familiar worries. The short answer? “Probably not.” Everything about the experience was different, including me.
The one constant? I was still faking orgasms.
I grew up in an environment where conversations about sex were shrouded in negativity and shame. The only glimpse I had into what intimacy might entail was through a static-filled Playboy channel on our TV. As I navigated my teenage years, I mistakenly believed that sex was straightforward, loud, and over quickly. My initial attempt at self-exploration left me feeling like something was wrong, leading me to abandon the idea for years.
When I began exploring physical intimacy with my first boyfriend in high school, I was disappointed to discover that it didn’t seem to work for me either. On our first encounter, I faked my first orgasm, completely unaware of what one truly felt like. It wasn’t until a long, frustrated night alone that I finally discovered what worked for me.
This revelation, however, didn’t change my sexual experiences. I still felt uncomfortable discussing my desires or needs. Even the idea of expressing what I wanted made me want to disappear. I didn’t want to be perceived as high-maintenance or make my partners feel inadequate. A lifetime of societal expectations had ingrained in me the idea that women should always be pleasant and accommodating.
In my early twenties, I met my husband, Jake. He’s incredibly attentive in the bedroom, but at that time, I wasn’t ready to embrace the opportunity for mutual satisfaction. The first time I faked an orgasm with him, he raised an eyebrow, but I insisted I had reached climax. When he continued, I faked it again and again until he finished. He even remarked on how easily I seemed to orgasm, and I simply smiled and nodded.
Instead of seizing the chance for genuine intimacy, I clung to my old habits, fearing I might hurt his feelings. I was embarrassed to ask for more attention or time, even though I knew he would appreciate my honesty. Years of watching scrambled, male-oriented depictions of sex had left an imprint on me.
We often discuss the wage gap and other areas where women struggle to ask for what they need—be it a raise, help with household chores, or even an orgasm. It’s disheartening how difficult it can be to voice our needs, and that shouldn’t be the case.
The issue with beginning a relationship on false pretenses is that those lies tend to grow and become increasingly difficult to address. As time passed, I found myself deeper in a relationship—complete with a mortgage, marriage, and children—making it even harder to confront the dishonesty. As my dissatisfaction with our sex life grew, I longed for an opportunity to address my struggles without revisiting nearly a decade of deception.
When I gave birth to our second child, I finally saw my chance. That first intimate encounter after childbirth? I felt hopeful instead of fearful. After nearly a decade with Jake, the prospect of honestly exploring my desires filled me with excitement. We both recognized that sex would feel different, and it allowed me to be open about what was pleasurable and what wasn’t.
That night marked the first time I experienced true intimacy. I didn’t rush things, didn’t fake noises, and communicated openly about what worked for me. It didn’t result in an orgasm right away, but together, we navigated through it. After years of faking my way through intimacy, I was finally beginning to enjoy it.
Let me emphasize: the joy of receiving what you truly want and need during sex far surpasses the awkwardness of expressing those desires. I genuinely wish I could stop women on the street and encourage them to communicate their needs in bed. While I may not do that, I’m sending positive vibes into the world, hoping that more women experience genuine pleasure.
So, don’t be like me. Speak up, be honest, and share your desires with your partner.
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Summary
In an honest reflection, the author shares her journey of overcoming the habit of faking orgasms, revealing the importance of open communication in intimate relationships. After years of silence driven by societal expectations, she embraces her desires, leading to a fulfilling sexual life with her partner.
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