Sex can be the most basic, carnal experience. But it can also be a game of theatre. Candid conversations with friends about our sex lives will often reveal that a lot of people tell fibs before, after and during – in order to fool ourselves or our partners that we are enjoying ourselves, and that everything is conforming happily to the idea of what we're told sex should be.
Some of us edit our appearance: "I'm just naturally this groomed", "This AP lingerie? Oh, it's just my basics." And feign enjoyment to save our partner's feelings: "Babe, that was the best", "Nope, never squirted before." We concoct exit strategies for when we just need some space; if I'd actually gone into work as early as I've pretended to on all those occasions, I'd definitely be due a raise.
In the bedroom, the truth is more bendy than Kama Sutra, but at what point does a white lie fade to grey? What are the lies we wish we hadn't told? And what would have happened if we'd just come out with the truth? Ahead, six writers share the worst lies they've told in the bedroom...
* Names have been changed.
Ana, 22
A recurring theme in the bedroom for me is that I am just not into receiving oral sex, it's not my bag, and I find it near impossible to come from it. An affliction I've carried for years. The first lie I usually tell, is that I like it – because I can't be bothered to explain that I don't. When I do make the effort to tell sexual partners I'm just not that into head (partners all men in my case), they quickly take it as a challenge. Down they go and labour away. I try to focus, try to relax, try to think 'maybe this time will be different', but as the minutes – hell, hours – pass, it becomes apparent that it won't. I stare at the ceiling, calmly planning dinner.
Yet nothing kills the vibe like telling someone they don't have the X Factor when it comes to oral – and often if I've given up without coming it's resulted in my partner feeling a little bruised, becoming passive aggressive, even. And so, sometimes I try to make things easier. There have been several times when I've pretended that a partner has miraculously cured my affliction. "Oh my God, I can't believe I came..," I'll whisper into their ear, after gripping their hair in fake-passion as I fake-come. Later, I'll often think: "Hmm, kind of wish I just lay there being actively unimpressed, as a kind of 'Hey, I told you so'."
Photographed by Kate Anglestein.
Roberta, 34
Once, for my birthday, a girlfriend bought me a present: a strap on. We were both about to hit thirty, and despite being out and proud lesbians, we'd never used one in either of our sexual histories. Arguably a bit of an oversight, I know. On my thirtieth birthday, she fucked me with it, then I cleaned it, shoved it in a draw, and forgot all about it.
Cut to two years later, when this relationship had bitten the dust, and I was in the midst of a new one. I was going down on my girlfriend when she suddenly said, "Babe, I want you to fuck me with a strap on." I stopped. "Oh, now? I have one," I said tentatively. She hesitated, and then said, "No way – I'm not letting you fuck me with something you've used with someone else. It's weird. I mean like let's get a new one." Immediately I thought of the last time I perused the price of a strap on (we're talking at least £50 here) and how much I wanted to try something new with my girlfriend in that very moment. Then the words just sort of fell out of my mouth. "But I haven't used it with anyone else," I lied, forever undermining the sentimental value of a rubber cock, and forever feeling a teeny bit dishonest.
Photographed by Kate Anglestein.
Molly, 25
It pains me to admit the worst lie I've ever told in bed. But here goes... I had just started dating someone new, who I'd liked for a while. He was in a band – a band that went on tour a lot. We were two dates down and still hadn't had sex when I got a text from a recent previous sexual partner, "I need to talk to you," it said. He called me. "I've got chlamydia," he said, "and since we didn't use a condom, I'm guessing you might have it too." I grumbled. "Well thanks for telling me," I said, and hung up. I went to the clinic the next day, taking an hour off work. They tested me, and two days later I was back in the sexual health doctor's chair... being prescribed antibiotics.
Meanwhile, boy number one was making his return to London. He forwarded a selfie I'd taken into my inbox. "Hot. I want to see you." It read. The third date seemed like time to be making progress in the bedroom, but my doctor had advised I abstain from sexual contact for at least a week, until I had the all clear. I decided I'd do it anyway – I had a plan. Four Negronis down on date three, I found myself heading back to boy number one's house. Anticipating that he'd want to go further than second base – irresponsible territory for someone with an STD – I put a tampon in, despite the fact that I wasn't on my period. Just at the moment he put his hands down my pants, I uttered the phrase I'd been planning to utter all night, "Stop, I'm on my period..."
Photographed by Kate Anglestein.
Jon, 33
I used to hook up with this guy who didn't live too far from my house, which was very convenient for casual sex. The only issue was that he was a talker. Think Hamlet's soliloquy. I'd go round, want to have sex and leave, but he'd want to talk about life and the meaning of it, both pre and post coital, which was quite annoying as I didn't really care about his life, I just wanted to get on with it. I'd sit there while he would talk and internally just be thinking, 'When are we going to fuck?'
One day, I was super-hungover, which makes me super-horny. We were Whatsapping and I was like, 'Sure, I'll come over'. As soon as I got there I remembered I'd probably have to sit and talk with him for about 45 minutes before I could get what I wanted. So I pretended I had lost my voice using a selection of elaborate hand movements and croaks from my throat. I think it was quite convincing because it definitely worked; I was in and out of there like a SWAT team and soon back in my own bed, enjoying the peace and quiet of Netflix. I don't regret it for a second.
Photographed by Kate Anglestein.
Michelle, 27
I have a LOVELY boyfriend – who happens to ask seriously ballsy questions in bed. Like "Was that the best orgasm you've ever had?" What's a girl to say? "Erm, no?" Then when he falls back, satisfied, after a good sesh, and goes, "Seriously, we have the best sex", how can I possibly reply with "seriously?!"
So of course I say "Yeah, it actually was" and "I know, I can't believe it" because these particular things are best left unsaid. "Actually, love of my life, man of my dreams, the best orgasm I've ever had was last week when you were on holiday and I was by myself, watching fetish porn... And the second best was with my ex-boyfriend when we were in a park at the beginning of our relationship... Sometimes I think about that one in order to come when I'm having sex with you."
Yeah, right.
Photographed by Kate Anglestein.
Nora, 24
I know lots of women who fake orgasms, but I'm terrible for a wee white lie before we've even, you know, taken our clothes off. A few years ago, I went through a period of meeting up with guys entirely with the aim of casual sex and finding myself occasionally doing this thing. It went like this: Go for a drink with boy. Get 'tipsy'. Make out with them in until they had an erection before they suggest going back to their place.
I hate myself for doing this, because it panders to the frankly outdated idea that you shouldn't fuck on the first date (when I've since learnt, reader, that you should do whatever the hell you want to do as long as you're safe.) I would feign reluctance. I would look appalled and reach for my bag/phone/drink. Of course, after much cajoling, I'd 'reluctantly' get in their cab but not before vehemently declaring my pure-as-snow sexual history that ran along the lines of: "I never do this on the first date. Fuck. This is so out of character."
Of course I grew out of this. It all got less charming and less believable. Plus with age, I cared less and less about what they thought and more about what I wanted. I think it was in some ways a method to ensure my partner felt special. Now I focus more on what makes me feel good.
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