Politics of power and life

In the realm of gender inequality, wage gaps and underrepresentation in leadership often dominate the headlines. But tucked away in the private corners of bedrooms and brushed off as a “personal problem” is another pervasive injustice: the orgasm gap.

The term refers to the consistent disparity in sexual satisfaction – particularly orgasm frequency – between men and women during heterosexual encounters. Numerous studies have shown that heterosexual men are far more likely to climax during sex than their female partners. While LGBTQ+ encounters show more equitable outcomes, the heterosexual space remains deeply imbalanced.

This isn’t just about pleasure. It’s about power.

The Orgasm Gap Reflects Structural Inequality

The orgasm gap is not an accident of biology; it’s a mirror of systemic gender norms. From media portrayals of sex that prioritize male pleasure to sex education that reduces female anatomy to a fertility function, our culture sends a clear message: male desire matters, female pleasure is optional.

On Love Island UK two nights ago, one woman revealed she had never orgasmed during sex, and others quickly chimed in to say they had only experienced it a handful of times. The moment was striking – not because it was shocking, but because it was so familiar. It laid bare how common it is for women’s pleasure to be sidelined, even in relationships framed around desire and connection.

Women are socialised to be accommodating, quiet, and grateful. Men are socialised to be assertive, exploratory, and goal-oriented. These dynamics play out in the bedroom just as much as in the boardroom. When women’s bodies are treated as sites of service rather than sources of pleasure, the consequences ripple far beyond individual experiences.

Let’s talk about sex education.

Comprehensive, inclusive sex education that teaches anatomy, communication, consent, and yes, pleasure, could do more than reduce teen pregnancy – it could help dismantle the patriarchal assumption that sex ends when he climaxes.

While both the UK and US have made incremental progress in sex education, they remain fundamentally conservative when it comes to teaching about pleasure – especially female pleasure. In the US, sex ed varies wildly by state, with many still pushing abstinence-only models and fewer than half requiring any instruction on contraception, let alone orgasm. In the UK, although RSE is now mandatory, the curriculum stops short of teaching about clitoral anatomy or the importance of mutual pleasure.

In both countries, sex is still framed primarily as a source of risk – pregnancy, disease, trauma – rather than as a shared experience of intimacy and joy. The cost of this silence falls heaviest on women, who grow up with limited understanding of their own bodies and pleasure, and are less likely to feel confident communicating their needs in sexual relationships. This lack of knowledge, combined with cultural scripts that centre male satisfaction, normalises female sexual dissatisfaction as inevitable. It’s not just bad sex – it’s a systemic issue that trains women to expect less, ask for less, and be grateful for the bare minimum. That’s the orgasm gap, and both education systems are helping to sustain it.

Healthcare and Research: Another Political Frontier

The healthcare system is often assumed to be objective, evidence-based, and gender-neutral. But when it comes to sexual health – particularly female sexual pleasure and dysfunction – that assumption falls apart quickly. The orgasm gap isn’t just a cultural problem; it’s deeply rooted in how healthcare systems across the UK, US, and beyond devalue and deprioritize women’s sexual wellbeing.

For decades, medical research has overwhelmingly focused on male sexuality. Erectile dysfunction, for instance, has been extensively studied, heavily funded, and effectively medicalised – with pharmaceutical interventions like Viagra achieving household-name status. In stark contrast, female sexual dysfunction– which affects an estimated 40% of women at some point in their lives – has been met with fragmented research, poor funding, and widespread dismissal. When treatments do emerge, they are often framed through the same narrow, biomedical lens that benefits men: pills, hormones, or psychological reframing – rarely holistic or tailored to the complex interplay of physical, emotional, and relational factors that shape female sexual satisfaction.

Compounding the problem is how medical education prepares (or fails to prepare) future clinicians. In both the UK and US, medical students receive limited training on female sexual anatomy beyond reproductive function. The clitoris – a primary organ of sexual pleasure – has only recently begun to appear in textbooks with accurate anatomical detail, and even then, it is often treated as a curiosity rather than a clinical priority. This lack of foundational knowledge filters into clinical practice, where women reporting issues like anorgasmia, low libido, or painful sex are frequently dismissed, misdiagnosed, or told that “it’s all in their head.”

It’s About Autonomy

At its core, the orgasm gap is about bodily autonomy. It’s about the right to experience joy, fulfilment, and control over one’s body. If we’re going to fight for reproductive rights, equal pay, and protection from violence, we also have to fight for the right to pleasure.

To reduce the orgasm gap is to push back against centuries of patriarchal conditioning. It’s not frivolous. It’s feminist. And it’s time we named it for what it is: a political issue.