How I Stopped Faking Orgasms and What I Found Underneath
Most women who have faked an orgasm eventually stop. In a nationally representative study of 1,008 U.S. women, 58.8% said they had faked at some point, and 67.3% of those women no longer did (Herbenick et al., Archives of Sexual Behavior, 2019). This is the story of how I became one of them: why I faked for years, what changed, and what I found once I stopped performing.
Where I learned to perform
I started faking orgasms just as soon as I started having sex. At the beginning, I might not have even realized that I was faking, because I was just copying the behaviors of women I'd seen in love scenes from movies.
She moans, she breathes harder, she arches her back, she hits a higher pitch and excitement builds.
I wasn't allowed to watch movies at home, so it wasn't until my mid-teens that I started experiencing romantic scenes in movies by going to the theater with friends. I have vivid memories of watching the steamy sex scene from The Notebook and feeling like the theater was not dark enough to hide my blushing. I was also very curious when I learned there was a director's cut of that movie with a longer take of that scene.
Growing up, I was homeschooled, so I missed out on typical high school sex ed. I had also never been given a sex talk, because sex was a shameful topic in my conservative religious household. So my entire sex education was built on a confusing mix of books preaching abstinence and magazines with articles about how to give a great blow job. I was conditioned to believe that my role in sex was either to not have it until I was ready to get married and have babies, or to make sure that my partner was completely satisfied with his experience.
The A+ performance
I've always been a high achiever, and I was determined to give an A+ performance.
So I moaned, I breathed harder, I arched my back, and I hit a higher pitch as excitement built up.
I would pretend to be completely satisfied the second my partner was finished. Meanwhile, privately, I was wondering, "That was it? That's all this is? Why is everyone so obsessed with this activity?"
To make things trippier, I didn't even know that women could orgasm. I was just performing the act to the best of my ability based on the few examples I'd absorbed and hoping I was doing it right. Hoping my partner was getting what he needed out of the experience and would continue choosing me.
So that's why I did it. To keep the connection safe. To keep the bond strong. To make him feel good. To fulfill my womanly "duty."
At some point, my partner asked me, "Did you come too?" and I thought, "Wait, what am I supposed to do? How do I do that?" That was my introduction to the concept of a female orgasm.
Then I started to have some doubts about my body. I had no idea how a woman's orgasm was... achieved. Realizing that this was something that was supposed to happen for me, and wasn't, made me think that something was wired wrong.
I thought my body was broken.
My concerns about whether my partner would continue to choose me doubled. If other women were experiencing orgasms during sex and I was not, then eventually he'd find out, and he'd obviously leave me for another woman who was more of a woman than I was.
The best I could do was perfect the performance. I'd become so good at performing that he'd have no clue that I was faking it.
The partner who asked what I liked
That worked for a while. Then eventually, I was with a partner who was very curious about how he could please me. He asked me questions. "What do you like?" "How do you touch yourself?"
Wait... stop right here. There are more things I'm supposed to be doing that no one ever told me about? I'm supposed to... touch... myself?
The achiever in me was feeling a bit overwhelmed by this. One more thing to get right that I was clearly failing at. And failing scared me even more than losing him.
But with him, I started dropping the act. When he asked what I needed, I told him honestly that I didn't know.
This very helpful boyfriend put me onto a few very helpful resources that were the beginning of my sexual awakening. He introduced me to OMGYes, a research-backed site where women volunteered to show and tell their preferences for self-touch. And he encouraged me to explore vibrators. I had my first orgasm with a vibrator in my mid-twenties, during this era of exploration.
He was also the first person I had an orgasm with, and it was through penetration, which many women don't experience. In a nationally representative study, only 18.4% of women said vaginal penetration alone was enough for orgasm (Herbenick et al., Journal of Sex and Marital Therapy, 2017). I think the emotional safety I felt with him is what allowed my body to open and surrender.
Why it got harder to pretend
I often talk about how the more connected to your body you become, the more you stay in alignment with your own truth.
Experiencing an orgasm clearly had that effect on me. Once you are aware of what the real experience is, it becomes harder and harder to pretend.
It took me a long time to unify my solo orgasms with a vibrator and my experiences of pleasure with a partner. With partners, my orgasms stayed inconsistent for years. But I started to feel wrong about lying. That feeling came from my body's truth first. The other reasons came later, through learning.
In my mid-twenties, I was feeling more and more into my feminism, and I thought that men should have an honest read on what their partner was experiencing.
Pleasure is the measure
I was also beginning to learn that an orgasm wasn't a necessary result of good sex. You could have good sex with no orgasm at all. Come As You Are author Dr. Emily Nagoski coined the phrase "pleasure is the measure." In her words, "The key to assessing your own sexual wellbeing is not how much you want sex, but how much you like the sex you are having" (Nagoski, via Pleasure Mechanics). As she writes elsewhere, "It's not only possible to want sex without orgasm, it's perfectly healthy" (Nagoski, Coral).
That reframed the whole struggle for me. I'm not failing because I'm not having an orgasm during sex. I'm enjoying sex as it is, with the capacity my body has.
How I stopped faking with new partners
My choice to stop faking it happened in the landscape of dating and shifting relationships. It felt vulnerable and awkward at first to confess this to a new partner, and I had a line something along the lines of, "I don't really come with partners, but I still have a fun time with sex anyway." This allowed me to start off a connection honestly.
The awkward part was that it felt anticlimactic (pun intended). Sex still often ended when he finished, and I would just sit there, potentially very aroused, and a little disappointed it was over.
Most partners weren't surprised. One, though, told me that every single woman he'd been with before me had come every single time. That isn't supported by national data, and it illustrates the illusion of achievement men can carry when women fake it. It also reinforced my feeling that the problem was me, rather than something common among women.
How common is faking an orgasm?
The truth is that faking is incredibly common. In Herbenick's nationally representative sample of 1,008 U.S. women, 58.8% had faked an orgasm at some point (Herbenick et al., 2019).
The statistics tell me that my experience was not isolated, and that many women fake it so their partner will feel like he succeeded, or to maintain the connection.
And I'm also not alone in stopping. In the same study, 67.3% of women who had faked no longer did.
What about telling a long-term partner?
Sometimes I think about how much harder it might be to confess to a long-term partner and say, "Hey, I know you thought I was orgasmic this whole time, but actually I was lying to you."
She might feel embarrassed about putting on the act. She might worry that her partner will feel hurt or upset. She might fear the relationship ending. In Herbenick's study, 55.4% of women had wanted to communicate with a partner about sex and decided not to, most often because they didn't want to hurt their partner's feelings (42.4%), weren't comfortable going into detail (40.2%), or felt embarrassed (37.7%).
The women who stopped faking cited greater comfort with sex and with their identity as women, and feeling accepted by their partner whether or not they orgasmed (Psych Central summary of Herbenick et al., 2019).
So she may risk some embarrassment, and her partner may be upset. But on the other side of that discomfort is the possibility of a stronger sense of herself, a more honest and accepting relationship, and, I'll add, the opportunity to grow curious about what actually brings her pleasure.
Better sex is practiced
Where I stand now, there is nothing to achieve in sex. It's all about presence. The more present you are, the more pleasure you can feel, and you cultivate both through attention and practice. So better sex isn't achieved. It's practiced. Every moment of dropping into your breath, bringing awareness to your body's sensations, and allowing yourself to feel and open and surrender to the moment is a moment you are practicing.
I still have sex sessions where sometimes I don't come, or sometimes my partner doesn't come, but I don't see that as a failing on either partner's part. Every day the body feels different, and it's all about honoring what's true in the moment.
I know many routes within my body to access pleasure, which makes it more readily available. And often the richest experiences arrive when you aren't going after a particular goal, but flowing with the map of your body's arousal. Along the way, I've been surprised by the many different types of orgasmic experiences I could have.
Now when I moan, it comes from an authentic place, and each moan can open up more capacity for feeling. I might arch my back to find an angle I particularly enjoy.
It turns out all the performing was its own type of practicing. I just needed to lose the goal and find my pleasure underneath all of it. It was there all along, but it was suppressed under the layers of overthinking and performance.
If you're still performing, you are not broken. Many women experience what you are experiencing, and there is a way out.
Keep exploring
Start with the free first lesson of Pleasure Ed: delaneymatthews.com/intro-lesson-invite
Learn how your arousal works in Pleasure Ed: delaneymatthews.com/pleasure-ed
Work with me 1:1: delaneymatthews.com/coaching
Read the essay about teaching pole before owning a vibrator: I taught pole dance for six years before I owned a vibrator
Read the essay on the orgasm gap: The Orgasm Gap Has a Name
Frequently asked questions
How common is it for women to fake orgasms?
Very common. In a nationally representative U.S. study of 1,008 women, 58.8% had faked an orgasm at some point, and 67.3% of those women no longer did (Herbenick et al., 2019).
Is it normal not to orgasm from penetration alone?
Yes. In a nationally representative study, 18.4% of women said vaginal penetration alone was enough for orgasm, and 36.6% said they needed clitoral stimulation to orgasm during intercourse (Herbenick et al., 2017).
Can you enjoy sex without an orgasm?
Yes. Sex educator Emily Nagoski writes that wanting sex without orgasm is perfectly healthy, and measures sexual wellbeing by how much you like the sex you're having (Nagoski, Coral).
