***Please note: This blog has been updated from its original version to include the full length of the conversation.***
It starts out like any other date. Dinner, conversation, polite laughter. Those awkward few moments where we decide if it's permissible to share an appetizer on the first date, clink cheers with our water glasses, get to know each other, blah blah blah. He tells me a little bit about his job, I feign interest. He blatantly avoids talk of family, I pretend not to notice his skirting the entry level questions. He keeps his leather jacket on over his sweater, collared shirt, and t-shirt. I refuse to comment on the unseasonable Arctic chill he's imagined will hit the restaurant at any moment.
First dates are scary. I get that. I've been on enough of them to know that they're never really easy on either party. Someone usually wants to throw up (fortunately, that's only happened on one actual date. Sushi. Never again.) I've dated the stammering guy, the fidgets-with-silverware guy, the nervous giggling guy, the keeps-his-sweaty-hands-in-his-pockets guy, the speechless guy, even the accidental erection guy. But never, until this very moment, had I dated reveals-embarrassing-secret guy.
As often happens on a first date, one person relaxes into a comfortable state of "I'm pretty sure my dining partner is not an ax murderer" and delves into deeper topics of conversation. This invariably leads directly into the "You're so great, why are you single?" line of questioning. We compare notes, laugh at awful first dates gone by, discuss the pitfalls of the online age, strange profiles we've encountered, and how there's nobody "normal" out there.
I make the mistake of asking when his last relationship was. He makes the mistake of telling me.
Tyler: Well, I was going out with this girl I met online for maybe two months or so. But it didn't work out.
Me: Oh? How come?
Tyler: She was kind of a cold fish.
Me: Ouch. That doesn't sound fun.
Tyler: No, especially in bed. You know, she'd just lay there and not do anything. I had to do all the work. It was really boring.
Me: Wow. That's rough. What'd you do?
Tyler: I faked it.
Me: (((Quizzical look.)))
Tyler: The orgasm. I faked it.
Me: (((In disbelief))) Guys can do that???
Me: I'm pretty certain I don't want to know this but I have to ask. How???
Tyler: Well, I thrust really hard. I made this weird sort of animal noise like "ugggggh." Then I shook a little and jumped off her. Turned around so she wouldn't see me, tugged the condom off, tied it up, threw it in the trash, and hid it under some tissues.
Me: Why did you hide it?
Tyler: In case she looked. She'd know it was empty.
Me: Ok, first of all - ew. Second of all, I've had my fair share of sex but I've definitely never looked through the trash to find the condom. I don't think girls do that.
Tyler: Some girls don't trust guys.
Me: I wonder why.
Tyler: Yeah, the worst part was when the cat came into the room and tried to play with it. He knocked the garbage pail over. I thought for sure I was done for.
Me: And that was the worst part? The cat playing with the empty condom... not your girlfriend knowing you faked an orgasm?
Tyler: Well, obviously I didn't want her knowing.
Me: Why not?
Tyler: Because then she wouldn't have slept with me again.
Me: But you didn't want to sleep with her that time.
Tyler: Not really, I was tired. Besides, Leno was on.
Me: What I can't understand is why you wouldn't have just made the effort to give her a REAL orgasm. Maybe if you'd put a little work in, you both would've been happy, avoided the awkward "This isn't doing it for me" moments, and still been able to watch late night talk shows on the dvr.
Tyler: Why should I have to work to give her an orgasm? Maybe she can't have them. Maybe that's not my fault.
Me: I full believe that every woman is able to climax with the right partner. And it's not really "work" - all you have to do is pay attention to her. She'll send you all the signals you need to find a way to please her.
Tyler: She wasn't sending me any signals.
Me: You weren't doing anything.
Tyler: So you've never faked an orgasm? Not even to just get it over with?
Tyler: Why not?
Me: Because that's like giving a puppy a treat every time he pees on the rug, then getting mad at him when he won't go outside.
Tyler: Are you saying men are dogs?
Me: They're very similar in a lot of ways. They need to be trained, taught the rules, housebroken if you will. Think about it - the dog sits down, you give him a treat. He lays in bed instead of begging for scraps at the table, you give him a treat. He pees outside, you give him a treat. If he pees on your priceless Persian rug, do you give him a treat? No! You scold him and send him outside. What he's learned is that outside = good, Persian rug = bad.
Tyler: I don't follow you.
Me: Ok, think about it like this. Every time a woman fakes an orgasm with a man, she's rewarding him for peeing on the Persian rug. He gets a treat for bad behavior.
Tyler: So you'd rather not reward him at all?
Me: I'd rather give him filet mignon.
Tyler: For peeing outside?
Me: Exactly! If you were a dog, which would you prefer - a Milkbone or a steak?
Tyler: The steak, obviously.
Me: Right! That's what I'm saying. Faking it is like giving the dog a Milkbone for pissing on the priceless Persian rug. But with a little work, a little coaching, a little training, you can teach him to go outside and earn a juicy, tender, meaty steak. A real orgasm. That's the treat you get in return for taking your time with a woman and putting the effort into understanding her, exploring her, paying attention to her.
Tyler: I don't know. I faked it once but I'm pretty sure every woman I've ever been with has faked it more than that.
Me: Well maybe they've only faked it with YOU.
And that was the end of the date.