A woman has shared her baffling experience with a hookup who could only orgasm if she screamed like a porn star. Writing for Metro's sex column, Sydney Summers described the strange condition that left her feeling more like an actress than a partner.
The Awkward Question
Matt looked me straight in the eye, still naked, still inside me, and asked, 'Did you just fake it?' I was shocked. Speechless. He was still pulsating against my vagina walls after my very genuine orgasm. It felt like the wrong moment to have this conversation. 'Um…I did come,' I managed, out of breath. 'Okay, well I can't when you sound like you're faking it, so be loud. Don't hold back,' he said, rearing up to go again, eager to ejaculate. I was confused. 'Be loud?' 'Yeah, like women are meant to. Scream!' He was smiling widely now, hoping he'd finally made me understand.
The Porn Connection
I didn't understand, but something clicked. I had watched porn with him earlier and the woman in the video screamed so chaotically during her orgasm I had to stifle laughter. However, I now realised that according to him, that was how women – all women – were meant to orgasm; and that, if they didn't, he wouldn't be able to orgasm either. I had just started hooking up with Matt. I would see him on my pub visits – he was good-looking and clearly the joker of his group – and we ended up talking one night, which led to heavy flirting. A few more drinks later, we made out in the garden. We never exchanged numbers; we assumed we'd see each other regularly at the pub, and we did. Sometimes we'd make out, and sometimes we'd just flirt across the room. Both our groups of friends would regularly joke that we should 'get a room, not a whole pub'. And so one night, we did.
The First Night
Matt invited me back to his place; it was right next door to the pub. I didn't even need to say goodnight to my friends – chances were, I'd be right back an hour later. We giggled our way to his front door and kissed our way into his messy flat. It wasn't dirty, but there were clothes everywhere and unhung artwork. We went into his bedroom and after making out a bit, he pulled out his laptop. 'Let's watch some porn', he smiled. It wasn't the first time I'd watched porn with someone in bed, and it wouldn't be the last. I agreed, excited – or, at least, I was excited until he opened his laptop and I saw it was already up on his screen. Presumably, it had been the last thing he watched before he went to the pub; and when he hit play, it became the first thing he watched on his return. I was not enthused by this, but went with it. It was fairly commonplace porn, where a blonde woman with huge tits was bouncing in different positions, off an oily man's – also huge – cock. I didn't find it altogether electrifying, but Matt definitely did. With every one of her 'Oh, yeah!' exclamations, he groaned back in excitement. Her sounds were so comical I had to hold back my laughter – and I kept peering over at him enjoying the show while making himself harder. I told myself I technically didn't have to be there. But I was, and he must have remembered, because out of the blue, he grabbed me and immediately started having sex with me.
Performing for Him
It was good sex; nothing brilliant, even though the positions he kept putting me in made me wonder if he thought he was rocking my world. We went from cowgirl to doggy to reverse cowgirl, missionary and then ended up pretzeled together as I finally orgasmed. But not loud enough for him, because that's when he asked me if I'd faked it. After convincing him I hadn't, we continued to have sex. I made ridiculously loud 'oh yeah' noises, in the highest-pitched voice I could, and he instantly came. I felt like I'd entered a cheat code into him. After sex, I cleaned myself up and left him in his room to go back to the pub, yelling: 'I'll see you back there!' on my exit.
Repeating the Pattern
I didn't tell my friends how weird he was, or about the porn, but showed off about having sex – of course. He came back into the pub ten minutes after me and winked in my direction. I half-arsed a nod and smile, hoping he wouldn't come over. He didn't. But over the next week, he did – and so we hooked up again. A few times. Part of me was just happy to get laid – I didn't really consider that I could do better. I would scream 'Oh, yeah!', and he would come, and I would go back downstairs, annoyed. It wasn't the fact that these noises got him off, it was that he clearly watched this one porn show over and over, and just expected sex to look exactly like that. But porn is unrealistic and reveals nothing about how intimacy really works. It's a set with cameras and lights, not a bedroom filled with excitement.
Moving On
I slept with him two more times before calling it quits due to sheer boredom, and finally telling my friends – all of whom laughed at the story. 'Some men watch too much porn', my friend nodded, telling us a similar story of her experiences. We found a new local and new boys to flirt with, and I happily left my porn-obsessed 'Oh, yeah!' man behind. The experience taught me that real intimacy can't be scripted from a screen, and that sometimes, the best thing you can do is walk away.
