(Trigger Warning) Fake Orgasms, Rape Culture, and Being a Survivor
[Serious trigger warning, folks. This is the first time I’ve written in detail about shit this raw/being raped.]
I see a lot of shit on Tumblr, hear things from people I know, …and basically everywhere getting on (particularly) women for faking orgasms. Blaming them and saying shit like, “well, you’d have better sex if you just communicated,” or “you’re only hurting yourself,” “it’s your own fault,” whatever blah blah blah.
Well let me tell you something,
My introduction to sex was with my first serious boyfriend, who became my fiance. We were together for two years, and this is before I had any real understanding of consent, coercion, or rape.
During our relationship, he decided that if I didn’t feel like having sex, he would continually coerce me, guilt-trip me, and make me feel like there was something wrong with me until I gave in just to get him to leave me alone. That’s not consent. That’s rape. It has taken me a very long time to admit to myself, but it was. And this happened again and again in the two years that we were together. I didn’t understand what was happening and he always made me feel like I owed him sex. And I loved him, and had been taught that I existed to please and sexually satisfy him, so it went on.
Because I wasn’t turned on when he wanted to fuck me, it hurt like hell. And he kept telling me there must have been something medically wrong with me that was causing this problem. I believed it. I hated myself and my body for betraying me like this, because I just wanted to please him. And a big part of pleasing him was acting like I enjoyed myself, because if I didn’t, he’d take it out on me.
So I started faking orgasms because it was a way to make him cum so that he would fucking stop.
It was really effective and it became a survival tactic.
Read that again.
IT BECAME A SURVIVAL TACTIC.
Eventually and obviously, we broke up, but he is not the only person who has raped me. This is a learned behavior I adopted when I felt like I had no way out. If I didn’t do it, I would have a panic attack. Sometimes I still do have panic attacks during sex when I’m triggered. Sometimes I still fake orgasms when I’m feeling cornered or pressured. I try not to, but as a rape survivor, I’m really fucked up about sex sometimes and it’s a defense mechanism. It’s a way to get myself out.
So basically, if you call someone an idiot for faking an orgasm or talk shit or harass them about it,
you can take your victim blaming, misogynist bullshit somewhere else.
I was surprised to realize how much I empathized with all of this. I was with someone for over four years who was also my first sexual partner. I always felt obligated to do what he wanted. If I wanted to cuddle or touch sensually, he would say “Don’t start the engine if you don’t want to drive the car.” Blowjobs or sex were a prerequisite for affection. In other words, my needs/desires were always second to his.
When I refused to do something he wanted, he would persist for hours, days, or months. (three-somes, car-head, sex in public, sex in the house with my parents/small siblings at home,ect). It did not matter how many times I said “no.” This would almost always end up with him getting angry.
I do not believe all the things he wanted to do were inherently problematic, but my “no” was never goodenough. He would insist my feelings were invalid, illogical, and unnecessary.
“You’re being too paranoid!”
“Don’t you find me attractive?”
“I just don’t understand why you have a problem with <xyz>.”
“C’mon, babe. Science says sex will make you happier/feel better/make that headache go away.”
When the fights got heated, If I cried, I was being overly sensitive. If I didn’t cry, I was supposedly apathetic. He admitted to intentionally pushing my buttons until he could visibly see how much I “cared.”
Not once did I reach orgasm with him and not once did I lie about it, but it would have stopped a lot of fighting if I had faked it. Our sex life was rarely focused on my emotional/physical needs. He wanted very badly for me to achieve orgasm with him. We tried a few times, but he saw my orgasm as a reflection on his sexual prowess. He would get angry and frustrated when I couldn’t reach climax. It was because I “didn’t find him attractive enough,” or I was “too uptight.” I came to associate orgasm with a partner not only as an impossibility, but as a stressor.
We stopped trying to make me climax altogether. It was less stressful for me to stop focusing on my pleasure and desires. If I didn’t want him to get angry with me I had to give him what he wanted.Even when I didn’t want it, even when it hurt, even when I was ill, I would concede. At the time, it wasn’t worth the fight anymore. If I wanted to be with the person I loved, I felt that was the price I had to pay.
Over two years later, I still have problems receiving pleasure. I tell my partners upfront that I have great difficultly reaching climax with other people. Despite many partners of all shapes and sizes, I have reached climax a literal handful of times with a partner present. It is still nerve-wracking to think about.
To this day, the idea of orgasming with another person makes me nervous. I may enjoy passively receiving pleasure,but that edge of anxiety does not leave. I never feel entirely safe in sexual situations. I never feel comfortable taking sexual pleasure. I never feel comfortable with sex focused on myself.
I do not feel comfortable calling my experiences with that person rape, but it has taken me years to even begin to demand the right to my own sexual/emotional satisfaction.
Thank you for sharing this, Cage-Veil-Cunt. My anxiety makes more sense now.
If anyone else needs to read this. Everyone, read this.
(That second picture*- that’s an amphitheater. With trees. Talk about a BAMF.)
I went to Swarthmore College this weekend for a debate tournament- it was pretty great for a number of reasons. I’ve gotten much better at filling up my speaking time and clarity overall. (One judge commended me on sticking to the flow. Hell yeahh.) And by the last round, I ranked one for speaker. (Awh snapp- still long way to go as this was a novice tournament though.) But winning and losing doesn’t matter too much to me, what I love are the conversations during, after and between debates: talking to the really, really cute MO from Vassar about Oscar Wao, the few seconds of conversation with the girl who mentioned surviving a terminal illness during my euthanasia should be legal in the United States case, the guy from England, etc. Talking about ideas, finallyyyy.
The greatest joy, however, was exploring the campus. I wonder if I’d be happier at a small liberal arts college like this, as I felt, and as people often tell me, as opposed to this ginormous university I am a part of. The campus was beautiful, the people charming, the environment relaxing, the architecture compelling. The clear choice that appears is attempting, or at least considering, transferring to a place like this. But it doesn’t appear that way in front of me. This desire to do the undesirable, all the time, stops me. In this case its making Rutgers work for me, and I have been making it so far; I’m actually catching feelings for my school. I like challenging myself to find beauty where other people can’t or overlook and if I can’t find it, then I don’t think I deserve to find it or I’m not capable at the moment. It makes it all the more savoring to juxtapose filth to beauty to see the contrast and appreciate it more.
Decision made. I think. (Should I take a break every now and then and stop extraneously pushing myself like this at every chance I get?)
But I mean, I’m not smart enough. lol
And Junot Diaz went to Rutgers, guys.
And I can’t afford paying for applications.
(Oh god, don’t get me started on my career path either.)
*iPhone pictures, sorry for the quality. :/
I wrote that as a seven year old. Not much has changed. x’D
What it says without typos:
“If I were President, I would make the stock market higher [my parents had invested and were usually stressed because of that] so more people can get money. I would give poor people 20 dollars so he or her [lol] can buy food. I will make more buildings so more people can work. I will make all the houses have basements because kids can play instead of being bored and bother their parents. [I often felt like and feel like I’m a burden. ahaha] I will make people stop killing nature. I will make watches only 20 or 25 dollars. I would add more teachers to schools.”
I am tired of watching everything I dreamed of fall apart. That’s all. No attempts of trying to hide that in any kind of expression. I’m just tired of feeling like shit, looking like shit, and not having anything to look forward to.
This has been a subdued rant.