I often wonder how many more orgasms I’d have under my belt if I’d learned to be honest in the bedroom sooner. I was so good at pretending I was having a good time as I writhed around. I had almost tricked myself into believing it wasn’t a performance. The heavy breathing complemented by ego-stroking praises became so routine I could give the titular Sally from When Harry Met Sally a run for her money.
But then the magical day came (pun intended), after years of emotionless vanilla sex, I slept with someone new one winter night in 2017. I felt the floodgates opening and was filled with the sheer
