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I Am So Sorry You Probably Didn’t Have An Orgasm That Time We Hooked Up

Oh no! I read this article on the New York Times about how you didn’t have an orgasm when we hooked up. That sucks! I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I know I shot out of your apartment like a superball out of a tailpipe. But I was pretty sure I had pleased the pants right off of you. I mean, your pants were still on. But still. This is worse than that time I crapped my pants at Lollapalooza. I am so embarrassed!

This is all according to the New York Times, of course, and who knows more about sex than them? According to the Times, women are more likely to have an orgasm when they’re in a committed relationship with their sex partner than they are with a stranger pressed up against them after a lot of Sauza shots. So much for all those think pieces on the new hook-up culture in places like the New York Times. (In July.)

For me, the female orgasm is way more important than my orgasm! I have at least 1,000 male orgasms a day. And most of those are just on the Path Train from Journal Square to Word Trade Center. I can’t tell you what men from Brown University are thinking about a woman’s orgasm, though, since all Brown men have been spoiled by being able to take everything pass-fail. At Suffolk University, we knew we men needed to be good at the sex, because we were going to be terrible at everything else in our future. Remember when the New York Times said there was no such thing as bisexual men? The New York Times is generally about as right about sex as Sister Francis was in first grade.

But anyway, it is such a bummer that you didn’t have an orgasm. I love when women have orgasms. It really makes me feel like I’ve done something remarkable and important, like clearing a level on Super Mario. What fun is sex if everyone’s not orgasming? It’s like tying in chess. And chess is barely any fun anyway. No one ever has an orgasm at the end of chess. 


And, hey, I guess committed relationships are pretty cool. I mean, I’ve barely ever been in one, but I’ve heard good things. Like in August Strindberg plays. Pretty much everyone I know in a committed relationship is always telling me just how amazing all the sex they’re having is. They are clearly the most-satisfied sexual people in the world. No one in a relationship has ever wanted to have random hook-up sex with anyone who isn’t their committed partner. That is why we have no such thing as Western Literature. Or art of any kind. And there is literally no music on the radio. And porn has never been invented.

Do guys care more about pleasing their partners when they’re in committed relationships? Maybe, because the lady-committed partners would totally tell all their friends how bad you are at sexing. And you’d be like, why are her friends always giving me weird looks at dinner parties? Oh, right, because she has told them all I am the worst sex partner in the world. Awesome. Pass the hummus, Thisbe.

I don’t know if 600 college students is the best control group for a sex study. I mean, maybe the ladies didn’t have orgasms during hook-up sex because they had a huge chemistry midterm the next day and were totally worried about it, or maybe they had a huge paper due on Piers Plowman. You can’t possibly have an orgasm when you have medieval dream visions on your mind. And, also, none of these 600 college students tried to have a hook-up orgasm with me. Maybe I would do a pretty good job. You should find me on OkCupid. And give me a chance. (I am “hornyloser666.”)

But listen, I’m sorry you didn’t have an orgasm. I’m really sorry. I swear, I am willing to do whatever it takes to make you come. Even if I’ve just met you. Especially if I’ve just met you. You don’t even know why you shouldn’t like me yet. You having hook-up sex with me pretty much makes you my favorite person in the world. And there’s pretty much nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy. I have seriously low self-esteem. I am in a support group with Eeyore from the Winnie the Pooh books and movies and he looks like Anthony Robbins in comparison to me. I cannot awaken the giant within. Inside me is another smaller, sadder me, like one of those Russian nesting dolls, and if you keep looking you get to the very core of me, which is just an old gross used Swiffer pad I swallowed while drunk. Which is why you should totally do me! I’ll get it right this time.

How are we supposed to have great sex in America in the 21st Century? Like one of the ladies in the article says, no movie has ever given us enough information about how to ask for the things we want in bed. I watched the love scene from Top Gun when I was young. I mean, I watched it all the time, over and over again, hoping to see more and more of Tom Cruise. What was he doing to make Kelly McGillis so happy? Weird robot moves? For a long time I assumed it was blasting “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin. So I played that song every time I ever got busy with a lady. That was definitely not what was doing it for them.

I really don’t have any idea what sex is all about. I am waiting for a Charlie Brown Special to explain it to me. Is orgasm the end-all and be-all? No. I’ve faked orgasms. I’ve had a few. For me, sex is all about not not having sex for, like, five minutes. When I’m not thinking about my fantasy football team, I think about sex all day long. I worry about not being in a committed relationship, about dying alone. Like, just crawling under the porch and dying like a hound dog with no one to love me. I never worry about death during sex. That, in and of itself, is a huge victory.

I do worry about my fantasy football team during sex.

I haven’t gotten laid in at least five years. I remember it being a pretty good thing, a thing that shouldn’t be ruined by crappy articles in the New York Times that quote weird random people all over the country. If you picked up the phone and drunk-dialed 20 people in America, you would get 20 weird different responses about sex and what it all means and what they like during sex. Some people like having their feet fall asleep, I think, maybe. (That claim will soon be legitimized by some other crappy New York Times article, you just wait.) And when we create orgasm pills, we will put those orgasm pills in all the water supplies and no one will ever be able to complain about not having an orgasm again. They will be having them all the time, so they will probably complain about that. I am so sick of having orgasms, everyone will say. And we will miss having weird awkward sex that goes nowhere. You will pay sex workers to not turn you on and make you feel like sobbing uncontrollably. Humans are disappointment machines. Without it we’d be so unhappy.

But, right, listen: I really am sorry I didn’t get you off when we had that hook-up sex. I promise to do 10 Hail Marys. You should try it. During hook-up sex. Pray for an orgasm! It couldn’t hurt! A new New York Times trend piece in the making! Amen!

And please, for the love of my fantasy football team, ask for the things you want in bed. Whether you have just met the person or have known them your whole damned life. Sex is a really good time to ask people for things. Your partner will almost certainly do whatever you want during sex. Particularly men. I once washed a woman’s windows and took out her trash and wrote a paper on Piers Plowman for one lucky lady during sex. I don’t know if she had an orgasm or not, but she did have a huge paper on Piers Plowman. And clean windows. If you can’t ask for the things you want from people while you’re having sex with them, when are you ever going to be able to manipulate them? Probably never. Everyone’s different, and we should never be afraid to show people just how different we are. I am assured by sci-fi movies that we will all have robot lovers soon enough who will do whatever we want all the time. Until then, ask away. You might just get what you want. Which in my case would be another season of The Wire. Who do you have to fuck to get one of those?


Jim Behrle tweets @behrle. Photo via vasta/flickr.


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