The Faketrix is real, and we must escape

By virtue of me being close friends with enough women for my parents to question my… By virtue of me being close friends with enough women for my parents to question my heterosexuality on an almost hourly basis, I’ve become privy to certain information that I doubt most men realize, though should: women are faking it … a lot. Buddy, I guarantee you’ll be unpleasantly surprised at just how many girls have dramatized a sigh or contrived a few pants in the presence of your whirlwind of Casanovarations.

The truth is that, in a recent survey, more than 70 percent of women admitted to faking it at least once, with a hearty percentage of them saying they imitate sexual enjoyment every time. There are books at your local Barnes and Noble with titles like, “365 Ways to Counterfeit an Orgasm” and “Why Can’t He Find my Clitoris?” This isn’t just some minor issue; it’s a goddamn institution.

Granted – as my penis denotes – I am no woman, and I can never really understand the intricacies of what exactly leads a woman to fake it. I’ve never been in the situation where I’m getting pounded for a good hour, the lube ran out 40 minutes ago, and I surmise that I might be able to speed things up with a couple imitation ‘oohs’ and ‘work me, grandpas’ so I can watch Conan already. I’ve never had to deal with a pipsqueak boyfriend who never lasts a minute but I make him think he’s a freakin’ dynamo because I like the kid. I’ve never had sex that, at times, feels good, but does not FEEL GOOD.

Though these are valid reasons, it doesn’t change the fact that faking it is undoubtedly a deceptive practice. It’s creating a world around us blinding us from the truth – the truth that we’re not getting women off. I call it the Faketrix, and, Neo, it is loco. A harried impulse from men would be to blame this entirely on women – they are the ones faking it, right? To that I say, “Bah, you fools!” That’s like blaming your cat for dying when you’re the one who didn’t feed it.

I wonder if much of the problem is related to the sexual apparatus in question. I don’t mean to insinuate that the vagina in an indecipherable puzzlebox rife with switches, levers and labia majora – Scotty’s in the damn thing twisted in a mess of wires, bellowing, “Gidlord Cap’n, there’s gotta be an orrrrrrgasm in ‘ere somewhere!” Comparatively, the human wang’s instruction manual is so short that it can be written on the shaft of even the daintiest of penises: “Pull me till I jizz or bleed.” Ergo, I theorize that most men lack the definitive programming to work that ‘gina because their own sexual contraptions are stuck in the technical Stone Age – seriously, they’re just skin sheaths with balls for garnish.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn. No matter what, the one thing a man doesn’t lack is enthusiasm when it comes to the subject. God knows you ladies can get yourselves off, and since female orgasm feels as good as – or probably stupefyingly better than – the male’s, it would seem tragic that the chance of one is as rare as catching the Loch Ness Monster playing Yahtzee with a unicorn. I say that we all can do better. One time, my buddy’s girlfriend gave him the “Vaginal Tour” – essentially outlining what was going on down there for the grunting man-animal, and explicitly letting him know her likes and dislikes. This quickly created explosively stupendous bonerizings for both parties included.

While greater communicativeness could be key from the woman’s side, I think, for men, a simple heightened sensitivity in attentiveness and empathy – a modified mentality of just a little subservience – could significantly aid an orgasm-famished vadge.

Look, fair enough, I don’t really have all the answers. But I know we all need to get out of this frickin’ Faketrix, so let’s try doing it together. Who knows, it’s worth a shot.

If this column leads to one more female orgasm, Ben Rubin just might have done his job. E-mail him at headpsychlo@yahoo.com.