5 Things I Wish Someone Told Me About Men’s Pleasure

I didn’t think I was the kind of bloke who’d spend ages reading about men’s pleasure.

Not gonna lie, I had myself filed under “fairly normal, doesn’t overthink this sort of thing.” Which was obviously nonsense, because I once left a perfectly innocent item sitting in my online basket like it was contraband.

Every time I nearly clicked buy, my brain did that thing where it goes, Really? We’re doing this now?

So I’d close the tab. Open it again a few days later. Read the same description. Close it again.

Looking back, the awkwardness wasn’t really about pleasure. It was about shame. Or embarrassment. Or that very specific male habit of acting like if we ignore something long enough, it’ll sort itself out.

It doesn’t, by the way.

What helped me was realising that most of what I needed wasn’t some dramatic revelation. It was a handful of very basic things I wish someone had told me years earlier, in plain English, without making it weird.

So here they are.

It’s more normal than most men are taught to believe

I think a lot of blokes grow up with the same background noise.

You learn that men are meant to be simple. Straightforward. Ready when needed. Not especially reflective. Definitely not curious in any way that might require a bit of thought or, heaven forbid, a conversation.

The result is that loads of men end up treating their own pleasure like it’s either obvious or slightly embarrassing. There’s not much room in that for curiosity. And there’s definitely not much room for admitting you don’t know what you like, or that you’d like to understand it better.

That was the first thing I had to unlearn.

Silence makes things look strange. That’s all it is.

When no one talks about men’s pleasure in a calm, ordinary way, you start assuming your own interest must mean something bigger than it does. That maybe you’re overthinking it. Or being indulgent. Or getting into territory that feels a bit too “not me.”

To be fair, I think a lot of us mistake unspoken for abnormal.

They’re not the same thing.

The thing itself is usually much less dramatic than the story you’ve built around it in your head. Reading up on what you enjoy, trying something beginner-friendly, or wanting sex and intimacy to feel a bit better does not make you odd. It makes you a person with a body and a brain.

That’s it.

If you’re new to all this, I’d suggest reading My First Male Sex Toy: Why It Sat in My Basket for Three Weeks to ease you into it.

You do not need to go from curious to confident overnight

This one would’ve saved me a lot of pointless internal drama.

For some reason, I thought curiosity had to come with instant certainty. Like if I was going to explore men’s pleasure properly, I had to suddenly become the sort of man who was completely relaxed about it, fully informed, and totally above embarrassment.

I was not that man.

I was a man reading product pages with the seriousness of someone reviewing mortgage terms.

Here’s what actually helped: smaller steps.

Not trying to become a different version of myself overnight. Not forcing confidence I didn’t have. Just letting myself be a beginner without acting like that was some sort of character flaw.

That looked like:

• reading simple guides
• choosing one thing that didn’t feel intimidating
• giving myself permission to be unsure
• accepting that awkward and wrong are not the same thing

That last one matters.

A lot of men stop before they start because the first feeling they get is awkwardness. They take that awkwardness as a warning sign. But often it just means something is unfamiliar.

That’s all mine was.

Lube makes more difference than I expected

There’s no elegant way to say this, so I’ll just say it plainly.

Water-based lube helped more than I expected.

Quite a lot more, actually.

I realise this is not the most glamorous insight of my adult life, but it’s probably one of the most useful. So many men seem to treat comfort like an optional extra, or assume if something isn’t immediately working then the issue must be them.

Sometimes the issue is just that you’re making things harder than they need to be.

Comfort changes everything.

Ease changes everything.

And when you remove unnecessary friction, physical or mental, it all starts to feel a lot less like a test you might fail.

I wish someone had said that sooner without making it sound clinical or like part of a sales pitch.

Just: use decent water-based lube. It tends to make experimenting feel easier, smoother, and less tense. If something feels uncomfortable, stop. If something feels painful, definitely stop. There is no prize for pushing through discomfort in the name of curiosity.

That applies across the board, by the way. Men’s pleasure gets a lot easier when you stop treating discomfort as something to ignore.

One of the most useful mental shifts for me was realising that “go slow” isn’t a boring disclaimer. It’s actually good advice. Rushing makes you tense. Tension makes everything feel more awkward. Then you convince yourself the whole thing isn’t for you, when really you just needed to slow down and make it easier on yourself.

Funny, that.

A lot of the awkwardness shrinks once you say it out loud

I’m aware this sounds annoyingly mature.

I’m sorry.

But it’s true.

A lot of the tension I carried around men’s pleasure had less to do with the actual subject and more to do with secrecy. Things tend to grow teeth in your head when they never leave your head.

Once I started putting normal words around it, even clumsy ones, it all felt a bit less loaded.

That might mean talking to a partner.

It might mean admitting, even just to yourself, that you’re curious about certain things and don’t want to keep pretending otherwise.

The first conversation I had about this wasn’t smooth. It was not one of those beautifully scripted, deeply affirming chats people in magazines seem to have while holding eye contact and herbal tea.

It was much more “Right, this is slightly awkward, but I want to say it properly.”

And honestly, that was enough.

What I’d tell any bloke feeling awkward about this

If I had to boil all of this down, here’s what I’d say.

Curiosity is not a crisis. Read about my experience when I bought my first toy.

You do not need to justify wanting to understand your own pleasure better.

You do not need to become instantly confident for it to be valid.

You do not need to start big.

In fact, starting small is often what makes the whole thing feel manageable.

Comfort matters more than ego.

Lube matters more than most men think.

Talking about it, even a bit clumsily, usually helps more than silently spiralling.

And awkward does not mean wrong.

That one’s worth repeating, to be honest.

A lot of men are carrying around a strange little burden they never chose. The idea that pleasure is fine, as long as it stays simple, silent, and within some invisible line no one ever properly explains. The second it becomes thoughtful or intentional, it somehow feels suspicious.

I don’t buy that anymore.

I think a lot of us would feel steadier if we gave ourselves permission to be ordinary about this. Curious without panic. Practical without shame. Open without making it into a big identity statement.

Because it really doesn’t have to be one.

A lot of the tension I carried around men’s pleasure had less to do with the actual subject and more to do with secrecy. Things tend to grow teeth in your head when they never leave your head.

Once I started putting normal words around it, even clumsy ones, it all felt a bit less loaded.

That might mean talking to a partner.

It might mean admitting, even just to yourself, that you’re curious about certain things and don’t want to keep pretending otherwise.

The first conversation I had about this wasn’t smooth. It was not one of those beautifully scripted, deeply affirming chats people in magazines seem to have while holding eye contact and herbal tea.

It was much more “Right, this is slightly awkward, but I want to say it properly.”

And honestly, that was enough.

If a partner is part of this, what helped me was keeping it ordinary. Not making it sound like a grand announcement. Not turning it into a performance. Just being honest about curiosity, comfort, and what might feel nice to explore together.

No pressure. No dramatic reveal. No expectation that either person has to be perfectly fluent in the topic.

Consent matters here, obviously. So does tone.

I think a lot of men worry that bringing up pleasure, toys, or trying something new will automatically make things weird. But it’s often the opposite. Saying it carefully and respectfully can make things feel more relaxed because nobody’s guessing anymore.

And if the conversation is a bit awkward?

Fine.

Most worthwhile conversations are, at first.

Final thought

The main thing I wish someone had told me is that men’s pleasure doesn’t need to be treated like a secret test of masculinity.

It’s not a test.

It’s not proof of anything.

It’s not a big reinvention of who you are.

It’s just one of those things that gets easier once you stop acting like it’s unspeakable.

And if you’re a bit nervous about it, you’re not alone.

Not even slightly.