I Sincerely Don’t Want Sex to Feel Like a Workout.

For the longest time, conversations about sex have been shaped by what people expect, what they have seen in movies, porn, what their friends say, and what they assume makes someone good in bed. There seems to be this unspoken expectation that sex must be energetic, physically demanding, adventurous, and full of different positions to be considered exciting.

If you are not practically hanging your legs on the ceiling fan or turning the bedroom upside down, you might begin to wonder whether you are doing enough. But who made these rules, and why do we keep measuring ourselves against them?

I think it is time we started having more honest conversations about these things. Not the kind of conversations that are designed to shock people or make anyone uncomfortable for the sake of it, but conversations that help us understand ourselves better.

You meet someone, know nothing about their personal life, and immediately start making assumptions about their experiences, how boring they might be, or what they are or aren’t capable of, simply because they seem focused on their work and making a living.

Our parents and the generations before them often kept quiet about subjects that affected our lives, sometimes out of cultural expectations, shame, or the belief that certain things should never be discussed openly. Unfortunately, silence does not always protect people. Sometimes, it leaves them growing up with questions they are too embarrassed to ask.

One of the things I have been thinking about is how we define good sex. Why do we sometimes associate sexual excitement with physical stamina, constant movement, and the ability to sustain physically demanding positions? When did being good in bed become a performance that requires someone to prove how much energy they have?

Why do you find someone boring because the person does not have a line-up at their gate or they do not openly discuss sex with people they do not see themselves potentially having sex with?

Of course, there are people who genuinely enjoy energetic sex, frequent position changes, and physically intense experiences. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. But there are also people who prefer something slower, more relaxed, and more intentional, and their preferences deserve just as much respect.

Imagine a person who enjoys unhurried intimacy, sensual body massages, the warmth of massage oils on the skin, lingering kisses, and the anticipation that builds when two people are not in a hurry to get anywhere. Perhaps they enjoy lying close to their partner, exploring what feels good, and allowing the experience to unfold naturally.

They may love their orgasms just as much as anyone else, but they do not necessarily want every intimate encounter to revolve around reaching one. Does that make them less exciting in bed? I honestly do not think so.

Sometimes, I wonder whether we have become so focused on the destination that we forget there is pleasure in the journey. We want the climax, the result, the achievement, the evidence that something happened. But what about the moments before that?

What about the pleasure of being touched with care, having time to relax, feeling wanted, and discovering what your body enjoys without the pressure to perform? What about intimacy that leaves you feeling connected and satisfied rather than physically exhausted and reluctant to do it again anytime soon?

I also think we need to understand that sexual preferences are not necessarily a reflection of someone’s ability, confidence, or level of desire. Someone can have a high sex drive and still prefer low-exertion sex. Someone can enjoy intense orgasms without wanting vigorous movement throughout the encounter.

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Another person may enjoy sensual massage and affectionate touch as much as, or even more than, penetration. Some people do not even desire penetration, and that is normal. These preferences can coexist. There is no contradiction in wanting pleasure without wanting to turn sex into an endurance test.

This is where self-discovery and acceptance become important. We need to give ourselves permission to understand what we enjoy without immediately comparing it with what other people are doing. What works for one couple may not work for another, and that is perfectly fine.

The goal should not be to imitate what we see in movies, hear from friends, or encounter on social media. It should be to understand ourselves, communicate honestly with our partners, respect each other’s boundaries, and find what brings mutual pleasure and satisfaction.

More importantly, we should be able to discuss these things without shame. Young people deserve access to honest, age-appropriate conversations about bodies, consent, pleasure, boundaries, and healthy relationships.

When we refuse to talk about these subjects, we leave room for misinformation, unrealistic expectations, and unnecessary insecurity. Silence can make people believe that their perfectly normal preferences are strange simply because nobody around them is willing to discuss them.

I am not suggesting that everyone should prefer slow sex or that energetic sex is somehow inferior. That would only replace one expectation with another.

What I am saying is that we should stop treating one particular style of intimacy as the standard against which everyone else must be judged. There should be room for passion, tenderness, adventure, relaxation, sensuality, and everything in between, provided there is mutual consent, respect, and consideration for both partners.

Growing up emotionally also means learning that we do not have to perform every part of our lives to earn approval. We can discover what works for us, accept it, and communicate it without feeling inadequate. And maybe, just maybe, we can become the generation that chooses honest conversations over unnecessary silence, especially when those conversations can help someone understand themselves better.

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So, what do you think? Or like my people will say, “Kedu ife iloo?”

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