1) How important is size really? for real? The answer would have been “not at all” until I personally experienced the magic of a throbbing 8-inch cock extending from the body of a crew-rowing Adonis with unrivaled stamina and cardiovascular ability.

If the dong is long, it can be better at stimulating the G-spot. (Yes, it exists, and it’s on the front side of my vagina. If you are facing me, put your finger in and do a little “come hither” move and you’ll probably find it. If you don’t, you are hopelessly inept and no woman will ever love you, you sad sack loser. Go kill yourself now.) If the dick is thick, it stimulates the vagina all over. And if the weenie is tiny, it just kinda looks silly which makes us laugh. And laughter, though pleasant, is not terribly arousing.

Regardless of your size, though, most women will tell you it’s huge. This is for two reasons. First, confident men make better lays, and we’ll say anything to make you man up in bed, including blatant lies. Second, however, is that your penis really is huge. All penises are! To those who don’t have them, penises are bafflingly unintuitive, size-shifting extremities extending from the most arbitrary of places on the body, a shape more reminiscent of plant-life than human, an organ that should really be internal, but due to a fluke of gross anatomy, is forced to dangle – vulnerably, whimsically, comically – ex corpus. If the human body were rational at all, penises would be itsy-bitsy and would squirt baby juice at the touch of a button, when the fella felt himself ready for procreation. But instead we have these monstrous sticks of hot, sticky flesh and the humiliating coincidence that straight members of the female of the species (and gay members of the male) mysteriously (and happily) desire them.

2. Do girls wear makeup every day? Yes. Any girl who says she doesn’t is a liar or maybe a butch lesbian. As an experiment, check out the chicks exiting the female restroom on your floor in the morning, post-shower. Now, I know it’s hard to keep your eyes up when a dripping wet hottie glides, nothing between her naked, moisture-beaded body and your increasingly erect dick but a ratty scrap of tattered towel clutched to her swelling bosom by a pale knot smooth, slender fingers… But seriously, look at her face. It’s busted. I promise.

A Girl has special experience in this matter, as she has been applying concealer and mascara in her sleep since the age of 13. On the rare occasion that I venture out of my room without makeup I get a lot of these: “Tired, huh?” or “Someone’s hung over!” Thanks, asshole. I went to bed early and am in optimal health. That haggard, baggy-eyed beast before you? That’s what your girlfriend looks like without makeup, if you ever looked carefully enough to notice her face in bed in the morning, before she slaps the Maybelline on. But no, you’re probably too busy finding a slot to stick your dick in to notice.

3. Which is the greater proof of devotion — faking it or not faking it? This would be a better question for Ask My Boyfriend, given that your interest in the “devotional” aspect of faking. Devotion, however, assumes that faking is in service of the guy, the relationship, or maybe Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior if you’re into crucifixion S&M. Personally, I fake prolifically, but not out of devotion. Mostly I do it because I’m bored.

My rationale falls along two lines: First, it’s rare that another person will get me off, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want them to try, or that I won’t have jolly good fun in the non-climactic meantime. But at some point Mr. Try-As-Hard-As-He-Can’s going to have to stop, and, oh heck, why not throw in a little gasp, scream ‘n’ shout while I’m at it? It’s easier to maintain that pleasantly glowy after-sex feel if I can avoid talking about his shortcomings (pun completely intended). Second, acting is fun and gives you a kind of secondary almost-felt experience, kind of like the time I played Helen Keller in my 7th grade class’ production of “Miracle Worker” and I swear, I totally know what being a deaf-dumb-mute feels like, now. Was it Oprah who said “Fake it till you feel it”? Not that faking orgasms will come anywhere close to feeling one (and anyone who says this has clearly never had one), but it’s better than lying on your back like a dead fish and mumbling, “Nevermind. Let’s just cuddle.” Or worse, “This isn’t working. Pass me my vibrator.”

As for whether faking is a viable expression of devotion, I’d say it depends on three things: First, how much your relationship depends on honesty. Second, how much it depends on your dude’s ego. Third, whether he’s ever going to find out. So, if you’re fucking a guy you don’t give a fuck about, and are in the mood for drama (or laughing in your head that this stupid fucker could possibly believe he’s doing something right), go for it! Some chicks would say this is bad for our gender – negative operant conditioning – but I say, pfft.

That third caveat – whether or not he’ll ever find out – should include long-term risk aversion. That is, if this guy is your boyfriend, maybe consider whether you’re going to get sick of all those faked-out, four-letter screams. Otherwise you find yourself in the midst of a three-year relationship with a diamond ring on the line, and you’re like, “oh shit.” Sometimes I think every guy who is faked to must know it, deep down inside. (Deep down is also where you can tell – during real ones, the vagina contracts and expands and shimmies and shakes and basically goes nuts.) But then I remember that tons of guys barely know what a clitoris is, that the g-spot even exists, or the fact that most women have third nipples in the middle of their backs (psych! that last one’s not true). I’d ask my boyfriend for his opinion on the matter, but that’d require coming clean, and on the off-chance he doesn’t know I’m faking, well, that’d be awkward.