Faking the Big O
How come men do not realize it when a girl is faking it?
A few groans in between the kisses, a couple grunts here, a loud moan there, some oooohhhhs and aaaahhhhs and a long “Ohhhh, yesssss!” and they seriously believe their woman has actually achieved orgasm?
No wonder men are so dumb.
Speaking from my medical standpoint (which is basically short for, as far as I have read about in the past five years of faking my way through medical school, meaning, I miost likely am unsure about what I’m talking about but I’m making a intelligent guess), there is only one way that a woman can prove that she has genuinely achieved orgasm. And there is no way that this can even be faked.
That is if she squirts a significant amount of wet fluid that resemble the consistency (but is no way reminiscent of the smell) of pee.
If she remains dry as a bone after the big explosion, she probably faked it. If she didn’t require for at least a few seconds to recuperate from the so-called earth-shattering release, she most likely didn’t get it. If the post-coital fluid that comes out of her vajayjay is thick and viscous, that’s probably yours, you two-minute man.
First Frog I Kissed (Who Didn’t Transform Into Prince Charming)
I wasn’t one of those pretty mature girls in highschool.
I didn’t get the proper catcalling curves until my mid-college years. Despite the fact that I did have suitors, I decided to make it less awkward for me and my parents to not have a boyfriend until I hit college. When I started freshman year, I hung out with a group of girls who had the same plight as I was – single and boyfriendless. I was initially okay with it.
Until THEY started having boyfriends.
I was, of course, annoyed and incredibly jealous. I kept thinking, What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so much prettier than those girls! Why am I the one without a boyfriend? It didn’t matter that their boyfriends weren’t exactly that hot nor good-looking. They, at least, had one, compared to me. Me!
In came Rain.
I met Rain one wet and gloomy day in August. I was waiting for a Balic-Balic jeepney heading to Quiapo, when it started to drizzle. So, I opened my umbrella and stood under its shade. A short guy in a standard University of the East uniform was standing nearby, waiting for a Quiapo jeepney as well. He kept looking at me and my umbrella.
“Can I share your umbrella?” he asked me.
I took pity on him. “Yeah, sure.”
Rain was a very charismatic guy. As we stood under my umbrella, he struck a conversation with me, asking me where I was heading, what school am I from, where did I live, that sort of thing. When we finally caught ourselves a jeepney to ride, he continued chatting with me, oblivious that the other passengers were probably listening in on our conversation.
“I’m Rain, by the way.”
“I’m [Mistress].”
“Hey, is it okay if I get your number?”
“Ha? I don’t know, Rain.”
“Why? Your boyfriend won’t allow you to?”
“It’s not that. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So, it’s okay then. Come on, I just want to call you up and maybe hang out so we can get to know each other more.”
I was slightly embarrassed, as we were, after all, not alone and everybody who has been listening to our conversation knew by now that I just met this guy but I was flattered by his blatant display of interest and I admit, impressed that he had the chutzpah to ask for my number when I know I am certainly not the most approachable person. And okay, he has been the first guy to flirt with me for quite some time, except for YoungerGuy (who was heading nowhere), so it didn’t really take much for him to get my number.
He started calling me up and three days after we met, during one of his nightly visits to our home, he asked me if he had a chance with me. Naïve little ‘ol me, I, of course, said yes.
I wasn’t inlove with him. I was rather more inlove with the idea of him.
A boyfriend, finally.
I was now a part of the circle of girls in our class who had boyfriends.
In my defense, I did try to make myself believe that I was inlove with him. And frankly, it was easy since he was incredibly sweet and affectionate. We went out a lot, for a movie or dinner. Most of the time though, when he was broke, he’d just pick me up at school or just drop me off before my class. He was very much into public displays of affection and he’d make me kiss him frequently on the cheek or with a quick smack on the lips. I wasn’t really that ready for anything else.
Until one day, we went to watch a movie. As soon as we sat down and the lights went off, he moved his head closer to mine for a kiss. I assumed it was going to be one of those quick smacks so I puckered up.
And boy, was I wrong.
As soon as my lips touched his, he forcefully stuck his tongue into my mouth and gave me a taste of my first French kiss.
A first kiss can be incredibly shocking for someone who has had no experience at all in the open-mouthed art of tongue-wrestling. It becomes even more shocking when you did not expect it at all from someone you were only semi inlove with. I remembered feeling so shocked that I actually opened my eyes in surprise and found myself looking at him as he kissed me with my eyes closed.
As I felt the papillae and bristles in his tongue brushing against my own, I remembered thinking, Hmmm… My first French kiss…. This isn’t exactly as earth-shattering as I expected. Why the hell are people making such a big deal about kissing being sweet and delicious? It’s not. This feels weird… Ugh! I can feel those papilla again!…
Needless to say, it was not romantic at all.
But as with everything else, I know how to fake enthusiasm. So, I closed my eyes and proceeded to rolling my tongue around and around his mouth as if I actually knew what I was doing, all the while pretending that I too was enjoying kissing him.
I was more likely a bad kisser then. Trust me, I am sooo much better now. LOL. Kidding.
The next day, I was just so awed by what we did that I told my friends about it… So I used to kiss-and-tell. Sue me… They laughed as I narrated my opinion regarding the experience.
“You know, kissing IS supposed to be like that. You should just get used to it and eventually, you’ll start liking it,” said YoungMama, who has had a boyfriend since highschool.
“Really? But it all just felt so icky! I could feel all the ridges in his tongue.”
Lee Lee giggled. “Seriously girl, it’s your first time. Trust me, you’ll like it eventually.”
“But it felt strange! And so wet! I don’t know how you can stand it!”
“That’s supposed to be what a French kiss feels like, you idiot!,” YoungMama explained to me, laughing at me.
“Oh! Okay…”
It turns out Rain had ideas of his own as before I could even start getting used to it, he started moving on to another more dangerous maneuver: copping a feel.
But that’s another story.
