As a diehard Sacramento Kings fan, I’m tired of saying it’s going to be this year, this is our year, and we’re going all the way.
No matter what, it always seems like we come up short. Imagine being me during the double overtime in game three. We look like we’re doing well, shooting 71 percent in the first quarter. Peja has a career playoff high with 39 points. I’m convinced we can do it. This is going to be the turning point in the series! Vlade is fouled and gets two free throws. There are 27 seconds left in regulation, he’s a veteran, the ball is just going to slink into the hoop and we’re going to win.
Bank! Bank! No net, no points, no win. I stop screaming. I try to keep my head up. It was a good game. There’s always next time. But no matter what I say, all I can really think about is the fact that no matter how hard I pray, scream or clench my fists, I didn’t win. I didn’t get my retribution. Free throws are routine. Nowitzki could make them, so why not Vlade? Why not us? Why didn’t my team win? Why can’t we go all the way?
This is precisely what it is like to fake an orgasm.
I don’t care if you’re the hottest man in America, Mr. Personality or Joe Millionaire – you’ve had a girl fake it before. It’s inevitable. Many guys would say that they know they’ve “never had a girl fake it before.” How do they know? Because he’s “always asked the girl, and she’s always said that she came.” She had the O-face.” He just knows.
Now let’s think critically here. You asked the girl after the work is already finished. You really think she’s going to break it to you after she’s done putting on the show? The point of the show is to get it all over with so she could watch TV, eat dinner, take a shower or whatever it was that was better to do than having you between her legs. She’s not going to just tell you that she can’t get off after her “Oh, yes!” act. Why? Women are nice people. We don’t have the time to coach, and I’m not your clit mommy.
Looking back on it, I’ve only orgasmed with two men in my life. (God bless you, you know who you are. Call me.) That’s less than 50 percent for my team in rebounding. Like the beginning of the playoff season, I’m usually optimistic about orgasms when the ball starts bouncing, but after a few minutes and nothing, I start to zone out on the game clock. Tick, tick… pump-fake, pump-fake. Then I realize there is no time to run a new play because my boy is Van Exel and he’s making three-pointers. He’s blowing his load before I have time to even think about blocking the shot.
And sometimes I can’t foul him out; I’ll feel too bad for him. He’s working so hard down there. I’ve got to give him credit for the attempt. I certainly don’t have the patience to tell him what he’s doing wrong. That’s what preseason training is for. I only do preseason training for men who I’m going to spend quality time with – men who have raw talent but need a good coach to become an all-star player. Most men are working from the bench with less than five minutes in real playing time all season.
So what do you do to find a good coach? It’s pretty simple. Chances are, if you’re between her legs, she’s got at least minimal interest. So ask the key question, “Is this working?” Or maybe, “What would you like me to do?”
It’s a sad fact that many men don’t think of sex as a team sport but rather as track and field and they’re racing to the finish line. If the girl doesn’t get hers, oh well. I have the sad future mapped out for such men: one long and dreary race to the mailbox to get the new Penthouse and a trip to the bathroom with a bottle of lotion. You may be fooling a few girls here and there now, but you just wait. Your time will come.
To the girls I have three things to say: vibrators for the offseason, coaching in the preseason and for right now: screw basketball. It’s almost summer, it’s baseball season and Barry is up to bat. Don’t waste time; go find your home-run man.
Daily Nexus sex columnist Beth Van Dyke knows how to handle her balls.