Does sex seem more satisfying for your partner than it does for you? Do you give pleasure, but not receive it? You may be a victim of the orgasm gap—snappy branding for a shabby situation.
The disparity between orgasm frequency in American women and men was first observed in a 1953 Kinsey Report called “Sexual Behavior in the Human Female.” The preeminent sexologist Alfred Kinsey found that while nearly all men in the study had experienced an orgasm before marriage (whether through masturbation or with a partner), 36 percent of women had not.
This century, men still report higher rates of orgasm than women across all age groups. They climax 70 percent to 85 percent, while women fall in the 46-58 percent range. But what about orgasm rates in other kinds of couples? Are both partners regularly reaching the finish line?
I decided to find out if there’s an orgasm gap between lesbian partners, trans people, gay men, and all the other beautiful arrangements of identity, sexuality, and relationships.
Gay men can have an orgasm gap, too
Gender norms can work hard against women’s pleasure, according to Angie D. Lee, a relationship therapist and intimacy coach.
While gendered beliefs about sex negatively affect us all, the pressures around female performance in a cis-het relationship can really seep into bedroom dynamics: Women are expected to perform their sexuality in a certain way and look good while doing it. That heightened awareness is what Lee calls “spectatoring”—that is, observing yourself from the outside—and it can draw women away from the sexual experience.
Combine spectatoring with a general societal neglect and misunderstanding of female bodies, and it’s no wonder there’s a pleasure gap between men and women!
When women chronically can’t come, it’s called “female orgasmic disorder,” or anorgasmia. This condition has been attributed to a variety of deeply individual causes, including medications like SSRI anti-depressants and hormonal changes. Diabetes can damage the nerves of our erogenous zones. A lot of these causes recall the root causes for erectile dysfunction, which I wrote about last month. Like erectile dysfunction, psychological and relational factors like anxiety, depression, or a history of sexual trauma can also play into orgasmic disorder.
(Read: Erectile Dysfunction is Common. Here’s How to Navigate It.)
Gender norms, performance pressure, and health can affect other kinds of couplings, too. When I mentioned my orgasm research at dinner recently, two of my dear friends, Ibby and Chris, chimed in from across the table. They’re both cisgender gay guys from Atlanta. For them, the pleasure gap manifests in how long it takes to come.
Ibby orgasms quickly and very easily, while Chris takes a while, especially when he’s taking his prescribed Adderall. They also half-jokingly identify as a top4top couple, which means they both prefer to penetrate, not be penetrated.
Because of that, sex involves a lot of “side” behavior—hand stuff and oral, sans anal. After Ibby comes, he turns his attention to Chris, which can make Chris nervous. When he’s not pleasuring his partner, Chris told me, he is prone to negative, intrusive thoughts and spectatoring. Both make it harder to come.
Some gay men feel pressure to present as—or be—hypersexual. Porn and so many sexy online creators make it easy to compare yourself to the unattainable gold-star gay. That, too, can cause anxiety in the sack.
Then we have the gay hook-up apps. Many encourage users to communicate their preferred positions—top, bottom, vers (versatile), side, etc.—and kinks (submissive, domination, watersports, etc). These preferences, often chosen from a menu of pre-written tags, leave a lot out of the equation.
I worry these assumed roles and motions that come with them can erase individuals from a sexual experience and turn everyone into a heap of keywords and flesh.
‘Lesbian bed death’
You’ve probably heard of “lesbian bed death,” the orgasm gap’s goth gay sister.
This term refers to the old trope that the sex life of two women tends to vanquish over time. It’s been debunked, so these days “lesbian bed death” is mostly a funny in-group term for the inevitable ebbs and flows in sex that any relationship can face.
Still, lesbians aren’t immune to pleasure gaps. When I mentioned the pleasure gap to my friends of the sapphic orientation, they recognized it as a problem that can emerge during sex between mascs and femmes—but in reverse from the traditional dynamics.
I heard two stories of masc lesbians using hands, tongues, and straps to make their princesses pop off. Yet their femme partners demonstrated disregard for helping the masc catch a nut.
Meanwhile, my friend S., a femme-y bisexual with long hair, told me that when she’s with a masc, she feels pressure to perform as a passive bottom—even when she’s in the mood to more actively give pleasure. This gendered role, she confided, can frustratingly limit the scope and shape that her desire wants to take.
When you’re expected to show up one way, whether that’s as a sexy vixen or a dominant bull, regardless of your own needs and desires, orgasm-killing dissociation and spectatoring can easily follow.
Transphobia and the pleasure gap
No matter how far I ventured into the fringes of mainstream sexual culture, I found gender dynamics at play in the bedroom. How annoying.
Take trans relationships: As I’ve learned first-hand as a queer person—and as someone who is proud to be surrounded by other queer people—transphobia and homophobia can create a culture of shame and silence for LGBTQ+ people. A lifetime of keeping secrets, staying in the closet, and general social alienation can reinforce the urge to stay quiet in the bedroom and put other people’s pleasure before our own.
Some studies suggest that young LGBT people are more vulnerable to self-destructive behavior if they’ve been left to address homophobia individually, without social support, in a heteronormative society. These same impulses may lead trans people to be more complacent about pain and displeasure during sex.
Recently, the trans author Kai Cheng Thom wrote about how she normalized searing pain throughout their early sex life as a teenager. For years, Thom disclosed in a July 2026 article for Script, she endured painful penetrative sex. Raised by evangelical Christian Chinese parents, Thom was far too ashamed to share her issues with anal sex.
At 20, she began her medical transition, which caused both a drop in her libido and a loss of genital sensation. Her doctor told her that all of these symptoms were a normal part of the transitioning process. She avoided talking about it with anyone else.
This experience is grievously familiar, echoing accounts I’ve heard from trans friends who feel that their pleasure is not valued in U.S. society.
Some doctors are so focused on boosting the estrogen levels of patients who are transitioning from male to female and zeroing out their testosterone—in order to achieve a physical appearance that more closely matches our cisgender counterparts—that they neglect side effects like erectile dysfunction and mood swings.
Race—and all the fraught cultural associations we have around certain bodies—can create pressure and dissonance in the bedroom, too.
Black people, for example, are routinely both hypersexualized and dehumanized, with Black women stereotyped as Jezebels and Black men as threatening sexual monsters. These depictions are a product of colonial thinking that served to uphold and incentivize enslavement, and deployed to justify oppression, commodification, and lynchings.
You’ll recognize other false, racialized ideas: the submissive Asian, the spicy Latina. Bringing these presumptions into a sexual encounter can create a boner-dulling dissociative effect for those of us on the receiving end.
I’ve felt this before, and I bet many of you have, too.
Tips for more satisfying sex
The first step to addressing this situation? Check in with yourself, Lee, the relationship therapist, told me.
Before trying to address the climax chasm with a sexual partner, consider your own experience around pleasure, she advised. Ask yourself: “Have I even experienced pleasure or orgasm?” If so, then ask: “What are the conditions now that look maybe a little different than they did in the past?”
Masturbation may help you answer some of these questions. As you may know, I’m a major proponent of mindful masturbating.
Once you’ve introspected, it may be time to talk to your partner. But don’t start with the end of the story: the orgasm. Lee encourages couples to focus on closing the intimacy gap first. Talk about what you like or don’t like in bed, what you’re in the mood for at the moment.
Listen, too—and do it with a “healed ear” rather than a “hurt ear,” Lee said. Approaching your partner’s perspective with curiosity, rather than from a defensive place. Phrases like, “I haven’t really experienced an orgasm” do not imply that you or the other person is not good enough. They provide information to work with.
Getting to know and understand the other person’s desires and responses—even in casual Grindr hook ups—can create a pathway to more pleasure and more orgasms.
Lee also suggests moving slowly—literally. Intentional movement during sex and foreplay fosters security. Partners know that there will be time and space to speak up if something feels bad (or good!). Personally, I think moving slowly carries an inherently erotic charge: Thoughtful, leisurely movements build anticipation and mystery. So hot.
The leading U.S. professional group of OB-GYNs offers similar advice for women, specifically. In a 2026 article on “female orgasmic disorder,” the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists advised “interoceptive awareness”—that is, taking note of heartbeats, breathing, and sensual touch sensations. Research suggests this practice can significantly boost a woman’s orgasmic odds, and make orgasm more satisfying.
No matter who you are, who you’re with, and where you’re at in life, joyful, mutually satisfying sex is possible.
If you’re taking SSRIs or embarking on an HRT journey, the right doctor will take care of your libido. And the right partner (or partners) can get you off—whether it’s in the bedroom, the backseat of a car, or even bound in the back of a dark room.
