The First Blow Job I Ever Received Was SO BAD I Faked An Orgasm

Speaking as a man, I can tell you, there are few things worse than a bad blow job. That may sound hard to believe — what’s the old saying, “Sex is like pizza, even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good”? However, I’m telling you, there are few things men build up in their minds more than a blow job, so when it underwhelms, it underwhelms HARD.

And it’s even worse when that bad blow job is your first experience with oral sex EVER.

Just to prepare you, this isn’t going to be the kind of sex story that people normally share. People love to share triumphant sex stories or OMG crazy sex stories. This one… is a little pathetic. (With some craziness here and there.)

To say my first blowjob was a supreme disappointment would be the understatement of the century. I left the experience shaken, disillusioned. I felt like I should wear a black armband on that day for the next fifty years, lest we ever forget.

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What’s even sadder is — the reason I was looking forward to the blow job so much was because losing my virginity hadn’t exactly been life-changing either.

I first had sex at age 17, in a cottage owned by my very first girlfriend’s parents in Wisconsin. This girlfriend was, to put it lightly, a lot to handle. She liked blaming me for a host of imagined slights and offenses, and I frequently wondered if she really even liked me (or if I really liked her).

Much to my amazement, the sex was not great.

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I’d expected something transcendent. Instead, it felt… OK. It was awkward. I felt self-conscious. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted it to be over with soon. After we finished, I distinctly remember thinking, “That was it?”

So, rather than wallowing in my despair, I almost immediately transferred my impossible expectations onto the idea of the blow job. I told myself — “Sex is meh. (That’s what married couples do.) But a blow job. I bet that will be AMAZING.”

I suppose that was the only way I could deal with my post-coital disappointment. Getting a blow job became my new holy grail. But it wouldn't happen for a while. 

Cut to one year later. I have a new girlfriend. She’s pretty, sweet, and I suspect she actually likes me this time. We’ve started having sex together and, while it’s not as revelatory as I once hoped, it is fun and more relaxed and more … social than it had been with my first. We smiled and laughed when we had sex, which was a nice change.

One day, while making out at her father's apartment, the new, better girlfriend slides down my body, stopping by my belt and asks, “Do you want me to?”

I spent a solid 15 seconds completely dumbfounded by the question and then it hit me. “Um … yes! Yes! Please! I mean, yes, if you want to, I guess … but … yes.”

This was it.

This was the moment when I was finally going to realize why all of the best songs, books, and movies were all about sex. Yes, the act of sex itself had been surprisingly bland, barely feeling better than masturbating. But THIS… this was a BLOW JOB.

This was going to change my life. This was going to be like being a porn star or being like Brad Pitt in that hotel room with Geena Davis in Thelma & Louise (it was the 90s). This was going to be EPIC.

She unbuttons my pants, I close my eyes in anticipation, and…

After 15 seconds, I open my eyes. I need independent confirmation about what’s happening.

Yes, my penis is in her mouth, so I can check that off any of those email purity lists in the future. I now technically have had oral sex. (Yay for me.) But … nothing is happening. It’s just … sitting there.

She looks up at me, smiling. I smile back. “What the hell do I do?” I think. She’s giving me looks like “Oh yeah, you like that,” so she obviously thinks that she’s doing SOMETHING. But, on my end, I can’t detect anything at all.

It’s like she’s just sitting there, holding a hot dog in her mouth without biting on it. (Not that I wanted her to bite it.) I closed my eyes, trying to detect some sign of motion or technique. Her head is immobile. I can’t feel her tongue at all. And, if I’m being honest, I think I can periodically feel little gusts of air.

“Is she actually blowing on my penis?” I think. “Is that what she thinks a blowjob is?!”

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But I don’t say anything because … HOW DO YOU SAY ANYTHING? When someone has your penis in their mouth, the only socially acceptable reaction would seem to be gratitude. And what am I going to do? Give her notes? We both know this is my first blow job, so I literally have nothing to compare it against.

That was my darkest moment. Realizing that nothing was going to save me from the profound disappointments of my first sexual experiences. Sex had been so mythologized in my youth that I’d expected something eye-opening, something akin to a religious experience the first time a girl touched my penis.

And, when sex hadn’t fulfilled that role, I’d piled all of that spiritual baggage onto the idea of the blow job, imagining that it somehow would fill the hole that sex had left behind.

But it hadn’t. They were impossibly high expectations, and sex, for me at least, never felt like a live-wire shock of pure gratification. In the future, after more relationships and a marriage, I’d learn that sex was harder than I expected, that it took more work, but it could also feel pretty wonderful and passionate and intense… with the right person.

Unfortunately, that hard-won knowledge wasn’t much help to me at the age of 18 while getting the worst blow job ever.

After a few minutes of awkward, sensation-less penis sheathing, I made a decision. I had to end this. But I didn’t want to hurt my girlfriend’s feelings.

So I made a difficult, cowardly choice — I decided to fake an orgasm.

It’s a strange thing, being a teenager in your sexual prime and having to fake an orgasm, but I needed an exit strategy, because, given the condition of this blow job, there was no way a legitimate one was in my immediate future.

I changed my breathing. I made it shallow, rushed. I bucked my hips a bit (but not enough to make it seem like I was trying to drive the blow job). And then, finally, I jerked hard, making an “Ohhhhh” noise that I PRAYED sounded authentic.

A moment later, my girlfriend was back up top, resting her head on my shoulder. “Did you like that?” she asked playfully. I fake smiled. “Oh my god, that was amazing,” I lied. I scrutinized her face while I said it, wondering if she was preparing to confront me on my fake orgasm.

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“You came a lot,” she said, which BLEW MY MIND. Because, no, I didn’t. I didn’t even come close.

I sat there, in the depths of teenaged sexual disappointment and frustration, and wondered, “Holy crap, did I just fake an orgasm so well that I somehow actually fake ejaculated?!”

To this day, it’s a mystery to me.

A few months later, we broke up before we both went off to college, which was for the best. But, like it or not, my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad blow job had taught me an important lesson.

It taught me that sex wasn’t some magical, addictive revelation that could transform your life like discovering heroin or Jesus. It was a flawed, physical act that had equal potential to be good or bad, because it was entirely driven by humans, who hold that same potential.

Yes, as a teenager, my bad blow job had been the most disappointing moment of my life so far, but, thankfully, it lowered my bar and tempered my expectations to the point where, eventually, sex became something I actually enjoyed rather than something I expected would change my life.

But still… people… she was actually blowing. Who does that?