Why Are Men Selfish in Bed? (And Why That's The Wrong Question)

Photo by Velizar Ivanov on Unsplash

If you’re typing “selfish in bed” in a search prompt on your phone, you’re probably lying next to someone who’s already asleep while you’re still awake, frustrated, wondering when sex became something you just endure. Maybe you faked it. Again. Maybe tonight you didn’t even bother faking it. Maybe you guided his hand three times, and he still didn’t notice the signal you were giving. Or maybe you’ve been saying “not tonight” so often that he’s stopped asking. Maybe you’re asking yourself: Is every man this selfish? Or did I just get unlucky?

Here’s what I want you to consider: What if the person being selfish is you?

Stay with me.

Because I’m about to talk to both of you—first to him about what he’s performing, then to her about what she’s accommodating, and then to both of you about how to actually fix this. Bad sex takes two people. So does good sex.

What Does Selfish in Bed Mean?

When most people search “selfish in bed,” they’re looking for validation that their partner is the problem. They want to confirm: yes, they only care about their own pleasure. Yes, they are inconsiderate. Yes, this behavior has a name and I’m right to be angry about it.

And sometimes that’s true. Some people genuinely are selfish as in taking pleasure without curiosity, dismissing your requests, treating your body like a masturbation sleeve.

Interestingly, his selfishness may actually be performance. He is following a script he thinks you want, reinforced by porn, yes, and also just about every cultural reference to sex. He is monitoring his erection, racing to make you come (if the race is just to make him come and not return the favor, then he may actually be selfish) before he loses his hardness, executing a sequence he believes is correct because no one has told him otherwise. He’s so focused on not failing that he can’t actually feel anything.

The Paradox: His Focus on Her Is Self-Abandonment

Here’s the thing about men being called “selfish in bed”: they’re often trying desperately to be good lovers. They’re just using flawed metrics: getting hard on command, staying hard throughout, lasting long enough to make her come by penetration. His entire focus is on his penis performing correctly. Not because he only cares about himself, but because he thinks this is what sex is supposed to look like. He’s trying to serve. He’s just serving a script instead of a person.

This is why his “selfishness” is so confusing. He finishes, rolls over, and at first glance he may look satiated but underneath there is a relief that his “duty” is over. He has been stressed during sex. He’s focused on his own erection to the detriment of his pleasure and hers. He’s not relaxed and taking in pleasure. He’s tense and monitoring.

That’s not being sexually selfish. That’s performance anxiety masquerading as technique.

And the cruel irony? His desperate attempt to focus on her, to "make" her body respond, to get her off, to do sex "right"—means he's nowhere near his own pleasure. He's so busy performing for her that he can't actually be present. He's abandoned himself completely.

The Paradox: Her Focus on Him Is Self-Abandonment

Meanwhile, she’s probably been praised throughout her life for how she makes others feel, for being accommodating, for not making things difficult, for putting others first. This people-pleasing pattern erodes a sense of self in all areas of life, especially sex.

She’s so focused on him—on his performance of sex, on letting him finish, on not wanting to hurt his feelings (as if voicing what she wants would hurt him), on keeping the peace—that she’s completely abandoned her own pleasure. She prioritizes his experience over her own body.

This may be because she’s also following the script of “receiving” his penis until orgasm—an elusive thing that appears sometimes and other times doesn’t. She may fake an orgasm because it just feels easier than talking about what she needs. She stays silent because centering herself feels selfish.

Every time she (and the women before her) fakes pleasure, she trains him that what he’s doing works. Every time she stays silent about what she actually wants, she makes it impossible for him to learn. Every time she prioritizes his feelings over her own body, she reinforces a behavior she resents.

Her focus on him, her accommodating, her performing passion she doesn’t feel is participating in the bad sex. She’s abandoned herself. And ironically, this makes it impossible for either of them to experience real intimacy.

One of my clients finally named it: “I let him get away with bad sex for too long.”

The “I let him” is such a powerful confession.

This isn’t about blaming each other. Both people are trapped in a loop where he’s performing for her and she’s performing for him. Both have abandoned themselves. And nobody’s actually experiencing pleasure.

The Cycle That Takes Down Your Sex Life

Here’s how the pattern usually unfolds:

Early in the relationship, sex is new and frequent enough that the issues don’t fully surface. Maybe she doesn’t orgasm every time, but she says it’s fine. Maybe the anxiety he feels trying to stay hard goes unnoticed and he is relieved that his signs of stress weren’t noticed. Maybe his touch is more rushed than she’d like, but she considers that they’re both still figuring each other out. Maybe the sex is centered on his erection but it feels fine, correct, even.

Then life happens. Kids, careers, stress, aging. And suddenly the sex that was “fine” doesn’t feel worth the effort anymore. Why prioritize sex that doesn’t satisfy you or is stressful? Why would you make time for something that feels like another task on your list?

So she starts saying “not tonight.” At first, occasionally. Then more often. And you both fall into comfortable narratives: women’s libidos drop after childbirth, she is “touched out” by the kids, long-term relationships just become less sexual, perimenopause lessens desire. These narratives feel true because they’re everywhere.

And these reasons are real—she IS tired, post-partum IS real, parenting IS demanding and exhausting, perimenopause IS real. But underneath all of that is a simpler truth: if the sex was never that good, why would you want to go back to it?

The sex was never good enough to miss.

Meanwhile, he feels snubbed but doesn’t fully understand it. He might retreat to porn, reinforcing an old grip pattern and quick release he learned as a teenager. Or he stops initiating because the “no” flares an old rejection wound. The distance between the couple grows. Maybe there is occasionally obligatory sex that doesn’t gratify either of you.

And the real tragedy? From the beginning both people have been trying. He thinks he’s being a good lover by performing penetration sex. She thinks she’s being reasonable either by accommodating his desire for sex even if she’s less interested or by voicing that she just isn’t into sex anymore. But truly, both people are participating in a pattern that stunts actual intimacy.

The Landscape Beyond the Penis

Ask yourselves these questions:

• Does sex in your relationship begin with an erection and end with an orgasm?

• Does penetration feel like the main event and everything else feels like the opening act?

If yes to one or both, you’ve both bought into a penis-centered script that’s limiting pleasure for everyone.

This isn’t about blaming men or their anatomy. It’s about recognizing that when sex revolves entirely around one body part, everyone loses. He feels the pressure of needing to get hard and stay hard. She feels reduced to a receptacle. And the entire landscape of pleasure and arousal beyond penetration go unexplored.

In my intimacy guide practice, I’ve seen pleasure surface in completely unexpected places when people sufficiently slow down to notice. I’ve experienced someone become more aroused from having their inner wrist circled than from genital touch. Arousal may emerge from the stroking of the back of the knee, the hip crease, the stretch of limbs, or the rhythm of synchronized breathing.

But you don’t discover this by following the penetration script. You discover it by paying attention to what sensations arise in your own body and being curious about what might arise in your partner’s.

When you de-center the penis, when you open up to the full landscape of what’s possible, sex stops being about whether his body “works” correctly. It becomes about two people exploring sensation together, present with whatever unfolds.

She Feels Like a Masturbation Sleeve (And You Probably Don’t Know)

For men, let me be direct about what performative selfish sex feels like on the receiving end: She feels like a warm body for you to finish in. Like the point of her being there is to provide friction and validation. Like her pleasure is either an obstacle to manage or a box to check before you can penetrate and come. Sex begins when you’re ready. It ends when you’re done.

Your orgasm is the period at the end of the sentence. Hers is optional punctuation.

And here’s what’s devastating: you probably have no idea she feels this way. She may have been making the sex seem successful, so you won’t internalize her desire to experience something other than penetration. Because she may have been taught explicitly or implicitly that sex is for men. She may not have given herself adequate time or been allowed to take adequate time to discover pleasure with a partner that isn’t penis centered.

This is the cost of her selflessness and your performance anxiety feeding each other. You’re trying so hard to do it right that you can’t see she’s not actually there with you. She’s somewhere else, waiting for it to end, wondering if this is just how sex is now.

How do I know this so precisely? Because I’ve been her.

I have been on the receiving end of this kind of sex. My response was to fake it. And then at some point I realized as a feminist, this was super fucked up. And so I started voicing what wasn’t working and what I was interested in. At first it was easier to address broadly after hook up sex. It was easier to say, “You know, not all women like to be jack hammered,” after I had just endured it and faked my enjoyment. Like I was offering some tip that made me seem extra cool: not only was I down for sex, but I was also generous enough to help him be better for his next partner. This is some wild polyamory people pleasing even in my feminism. But that’s how I needed to begin: thinking about the woman who’d come after me more than myself. I was speaking for her—and yes, for me too—but really for all of us. It felt that big.

For Men Asking: “Am I Sexually Selfish?”

For men, asking the internet “how was my behavior selfish” or even pondering your behavior after reading this far, the fact that you’re asking matters. If you are asking, you probably are not selfish, but let’s examine the questions underneath this question:

Are you selfish or are you anxious?

If sex feels like following a sequence you think is correct or you’re monitoring your “performance” as if being graded, you are most likely not selfish. Cultural norms have left you rigid, repetitive, unable to hear what she’s actually asking for, and unable to ask for what you want.

Are you centered on your penis or on your pleasure?

There’s a difference. If your entire sexual experience revolves around your erection (getting hard, staying hard, finishing before you lose it) you’ve reduced both of you to penis maintenance. That’s not selfish pleasure. That’s anxious performance. Performance is not pleasure. Real pleasure lives in your entire body. Her entire body. The breath between you. The unexpected places arousal shows up when you’re not forcing it.

Can you receive feedback without collapsing?

When she says “slower” or “not like that” or “can we try something else,” what happens in your body? If you hear that as “you’re failing,” you’re not going to be able to learn. She’s giving you information, not a grade. But you have to be secure enough in yourself to receive it.

Are you performing for her or present with her?

Most “selfish sex” happens when you’re trying so hard to be a good lover that you stop being a real person. She doesn’t need you to execute a perfect technique. She needs you to be actually there, paying attention, curious about what’s unfolding rather than thrusting endlessly.

Sex happens in the unfolding.

The work isn’t to become less focused on yourself. It’s to become focused on yourself in a completely different way. Can you notice all the bodily sensations? Can you extend your curiosity beyond genitals? Can you bring an embodied presence to sex? That’s the kind of selfishness that creates great sex.

The Revolutionary Act: Being Sexually Selfish Together

The solution isn’t for him to become less selfish. It’s for both of you to become selfish in a completely different way. Not selfish as in egocentric or inconsiderate. Selfish as in self-focused. Self-aware. Tuned into your own sensations before trying to manage someone else’s.

In the 1960s, sex researchers Masters and Johnson developed an approach built on a radical premise: sexual responsiveness is essentially self-focused. They created exercises where you touch another person’s body while paying attention to what you feel in your own hands—the temperature, texture, pressure. Not trying to turn on your partner or monitor their response. Just noticing your own experience.

The point isn’t to ignore your partner. The point is that you can’t actually attune to another person until you know what you yourself are feeling. You can’t give authentic pleasure when you’re faking your own. You can’t receive touch openly when you’re busy performing gratitude for it.

Being selfish, in this context, means knowing what you want and being willing to ask for it. It means saying “slower” without apologizing. It means redirecting a hand without worrying about ego. It means asking for what makes you feel good even if it’s not what you think you’re supposed to want. It means letting go of what sex should look like altogether.

For him, it means touching her without executing a foreplay playbook. It means acknowledging without panic that an erection may come and go. It means exploring her body as a landscape beyond the obvious zones. It means letting go of the death grip—literally and metaphorically—and relearning what sensation actually feels like.

How to be Selfish Together

In my intimacy guide practice, Selfish Sexuality, I work with individuals and couples who are exhausted by this performance-pretending trap.

We explore your core desire. How do you want to feel during sex, not what you think you should feel or want. Do you want to feel powerful, playful, used, exposed, the list goes on and on. Most people have never asked themselves this question. They’ve been too busy trying to have “normal” sex to discover what they actually want.

We map your accelerators and brakes. What genuinely turns you on versus what shuts you down. We practice touch that’s about noticing sensation rather than producing a response. We learn to communicate in the moment without making your partner feel like they’re failing. We dismantle the people pleasing pattern that has you abandoning yourself to keep the peace.

We practice being present. Not performing. Not monitoring. Not executing. Just being here, in your body, with another person, curious about what’s actually happening instead of what’s supposed to happen.

We learn how to move beyond performance to pleasure. As Betty Martin writes in “The Art of Giving and Receiving, “Pleasure is a powerful change agent. Pleasure lets you make friends with your body, and that changes your sense of who you are in the world, and your sense of self-worth, value, and compassion. Many fears and inner conflicts resolve. This is why it is often said that pleasure heals.”

So Is He Selfish? Are You?

Maybe. Maybe not. The better question is: Are either of you actually experiencing pleasure? If the answer is no, then you’re both repeating patterns that aren’t serving you. The good news is that these are learned behaviors which means you can learn something different.

You can learn to be selfish in a self-focused, self-aware, embodied, and present way that creates connection. You can learn to communicate your desires without making it feel like criticism. You can learn to receive feedback without defensiveness. You can learn to de-center the penis and explore the full landscape of pleasure available to you both.

And you can learn that your presence—not your performance—is the most erotic thing you have to offer.

---

Curious to understand how to be the right kind of selfish lover? I would love to support you. Fill out this form and I’ll be in touch.