“YES, yes, yes!”, I scream, as my body shakes from head to toe. “Oh gawd, just there!”
It’s 10am on a Friday and I’m having the most explosive orgasm of my life . . . with a man I met ten minutes ago.
Except we are not enjoying this intimate moment in the privacy of a bedroom, we are in front of 300 people in one of the most famous cafes in New York.
But this is no real orgasm. I’m competing in a fake climax contest to mark the 30th anniversary of romcom classic, When Harry Met Sally.
Meg Ryan’s iconic scene, where she pretended to climax at the dinner table opposite Billy Crystal’s Harry to prove how easy it was for women to fake it, was filmed in Katz’s Delicatessen, in the exact chair I am sitting in today.
Now, hundreds of excitable tourists, locals and super fans are ooh ahhhing their way to first place . . . and I’m one of them.
“Have you ever faked an orgasm?” asks a news anchorman as I scramble through the media scrum to take my place at the table.
“Of course, which woman hasn’t?” I laugh. “I spent most of my 20s faking it.”
The crowd laughs and a throng of middle-aged women sitting nearby nod in agreement.
“Have you practised much?” chips in another reporter.
“Yes,” I smile. “All last week with my boyfriend. He doesn’t know that, he just thought he’d suddenly become a Casanova in bed.”
Desperate to come first, the nerves have suddenly taken hold of me. The cafe is bustling and queues of people are lining up outside to get in.
Since the film hit screens in July 1989 the 130-year-old deli has become a tourist attraction.
Inside, thousands of pictures of A-listers who have dined there adorn the walls.
“Just take a deep breath and pretend no one is watching,” advises New Yorker Marc Suave, 35, my stand-in for Billy Crystal.
According to the organisers, the aim of the game is to bring the bustling cafe to a standstill by building up the tension with cries of ecstasy which grow louder and louder like a crescendo that would make Mozart proud.
In my best American drawl, I try to mimic Meg’s famous performance — where her character Sally fakes it to prove to Harry he probably is not as good in bed as he thinks. Sporting an Eighties barnet and shoulder pads, I feel more like Rod Stewart than Meg, but I plough on nonetheless.
As I er, finish, the crowd erupts into cheers and the chefs hold up a row of tens. It’s surreal — like Sex In The City meets The X Factor. Or should that be The Sex Factor?
But I cannot bask in the morning glory just yet. I have got — er — stiff competition.
People have travelled from all over the world to take part in this toe-curling competition — and some have been practising for months.
“I have to win,” says JodyKaye Martines, 39, from Jamaica.
“I’ve been practising this since I found out about the competition at the start of June.
“I’ve faked orgasms in the past, mainly when the guy is taking too long and I need to wrap it up. I was born for this, just watch.”
It took Meg Ryan 40 goes to perfect her orgasm and filming went on for 12 hours
Jake Dell, the fifth-generation owner of Katz Deli
She’s not lying. She slowly closes her eyes and lets out a series of moans and groans before her lithe legs start trembling. Now, she is screaming and shaking as if she is about to explode.
“Yes baby!” she yells and a tear rolls down her cheek as she reaches “climax”. The crowd go wild and she receives a standing ovation. Wowzers. She’s good. Almost too good. I wonder if she cheated and had someone under the table, giving her a helping hand.
But it is not just women taking part. In this “woke” world, men are screaming down the house, too.
Now, Mike Lim, 27, from Chicago, is in the hot seat. Across the table, his mortified girlfriend shyly nibbles on her sandwich as he throws his head back and forth howling like a wolf to the moon.
Just like in the movie, a regular diner almost chokes on her footlong as she watches the bizarre scene unfold.
Nearby, I hear a familiar accent. A group of Londoners are tucking into pastrami and pickles.
But like true prudish Brits they like to keep their sexual antics to the bedroom.
“We aren’t quite brave enough,” laughs Sarah, 24, a marketing executive, from Islington, North London. “But we are huge fans of the movie and came today especially to watch.
“I love how out there the Americans are. They don’t care. It’s been a bonkers day but we are loving every minute.”
Nearby, fans are queuing up to buy T-shirts emblazoned with, “I’ll have what she’s having” — a fellow diner’s quip in the film straight after Sally’s “orgasm” — and Meg Ryan memorabilia.
The hit film, centring on a relationship between friends who become lovers, paved the way for female empowerment.
But it also left millions of men around the world wondering if they had ever made a woman reach the height of passion.
“It does make you wonder,” laughs Alan Sharp, 53, from Birmingham. “I remember watching that film in my 20s and thinking, ‘God, if women can fake it like that, how do you know if you’re any good in bed?!’”
Nearby, Jake Dell, the fifth-generation owner of the family business, is clapping another performance and reminiscing about the day When Harry Met Sally was shot.
He says: “My dad and uncle were here on that memorable day. It took Meg 40 goes to perfect her orgasm and filming went on for 12 hours.
“Originally, that scene wasn’t going to be in it but, at the last minute, Meg suggested it. My dad said it was hilarious watching the director Rob Reiner show Meg how to do the orgasm.
“Watching a great big man scream and tremble at the table. It was a surreal day, apparently.”
Jake tells me that when I tried to replicate Meg’s scene, I looked a bit scared to begin with but then gave the “performance of a lifetime”.
To win, contestants must post a video of their “orgasm” on Instagram using hashtags including #fakeitlikemeg, #whenharrymetsally and #katzdeli.
The competition ran all weekend and a champion will be announced today. They win a deli meats package and film memorabilia.
With top scores across the board, I’m feeling hopeful I could be in with a shot.
That night, exhausted by my “performance”, I fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The following morning I wake up and switch on the TV only to see a giant picture of me in the throes of pretend passion.
Turns out, my fake-o-gasm has made page three of the New York Post and is currently being discussed on a local US news channel as they go through the morning papers.
At first, I wonder if I am still dreaming or if it is the jetlag playing tricks on me. But no, I look again and I really am on TV.
For once, it looks like I might just come first.
