When Guys “Fake It”

It’s common knowledge—or at least a tired Sex and the City cliché—that women sometimes fake orgasms. But here’s the thing: men bluff their way to the finish line, too. Jim Behrle explains why it’s A-OK for guys to indulge in some between-the-sheets theatrics.

The real question here is: Why would any man do this? Don’t we spend most of our busy hours—and all of our bored ones—plotting to get women into bed with us, just to have the opportunity to orgasm? How could I be so ungrateful? So careless with my good fortune?

Point taken. But the problem with that attitude is that it doesn’t account for system malfunctions. Totally natural system malfunctions. Picture this: Woman beneath me. We’ve had sex a handful of times before. The thrill of new sex has maybe given way to the part where I’ve found a comfortable, familiar rhythm and started to scan the spines on her bookshelf. It’s very late. I’m very drunk. Numb. Psyching myself out here now. Plus, I need sleep. In fact, I must sleep. As I rapidly approach 40, if you offered me the choice between the hottest sex of my life or the greatest nap of all time, well, I would have a lot of trouble making that choice. So I decide: This must end.

Perfect sex is pretty much a myth. And men shouldn’t be ashamed of that. When a pitcher has a bad night, it doesn’t mean he’s a bad pitcher. Shit happens. How often does a pitcher even throw a complete game? The manager just comes out, takes the ball, pats you on the ass, and gets some- one else to finish the job. “Now completing the sex act with your girlfriend, number 42, Mariano Rivera!”

Read On: Why It’s OK For Guys to Fake Orgasms

How To Delay Orgasm By Thinking About Mike Huckabee


What’s that, you say? The now iconic image of Mike Huckabee playing the bass, inescapable during the 2008 presidential campaign, was also broadcast in color and high definition?

That’s putting it mildly. To pay even a lick of attention to the historic ‘08 campaign was to have one’s cortex tattooed with hideously vivid glimpses of old Mike up onstage somewhere, sheepish yet complacent in his pouchy jacket, forehead furrowed by concentration and by yo-yo dieting, those soft fingers bothering the strings… But we’re ahead of ourselves.

You didn’t have to Think About Baseball before Huckabee came along. You could also try thinking of something repulsive. Eleanor Roosevelt gutting a dolphin. Alfred Hitchcock gnawing flesh from the bloated corpse of David Crosby. And this could work. The sudden drop-off in attractiveness between thoughts of one’s lady and thoughts of Benjamin Franklin having a back wax often would shock the system into resetting itself and forgetting where it was about to arrive.