The Elusive Orgasm: The Benefits of Rethinking Goal-Oriented Sex

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Images by Milanaires and sirawit99 - Getty Images. Compostion by Michael Burmesch

Elusive orgasm illustration

Having “good sex” is something that many of us aspire to, but we often struggle to describe exactly what it might look or feel like.

One benchmark that many people use to figure out what counts as “good sex” is whether an orgasm happened during sexual activity. Not only do folks apply this measure to themselves (“did I come?”), they often use orgasm as an indication of success with a partner. In other words, did my partner come? Or, was I able to “make them” come?

This focus on orgasm as a measure of “good sex” isn’t terribly surprising. After all, orgasms usually feel good! In addition to releasing beneficial chemicals like endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin in our bodies, orgasms can also relieve stress and tension, reduce physical pain like headaches or menstrual cramps, and help people sleep. What’s not to like?

That said, when we approach sexual activity with a mindset of orgasm as the goal, we run the risk of missing out on the many pleasures of sex. This is especially true for people who find orgasms difficult to achieve, or who have yet to experience an orgasm. If we set orgasm as the ultimate destination or measure of “good sex”—and then it doesn’t arrive—we might begin to feel that we’ve failed somehow, or that our bodies are somehow inadequate or “broken.”  A partner might interpret the lack of orgasm from their mate as their own failing, placing the focus on their ego (whether they are a “good lover” or can “make” someone come) rather than on the experience of their partner during sex.

Stressed Out

When orgasm is seen as the goal, and one doesn’t come easily, this often ramps up the pressure to make that orgasm happen, come hell or high water! Ironically, for most people, this pressure can make having an orgasm even more difficult. When it feels like so much is riding on an orgasm happening—whether you’re doing sex “right,” whether your bodies are “normal” (not “broken”), if you or your partner are a “good lover”—sex can become a point of stress and worry, rather than an experience of shared pleasure. What’s worse, for most people, stress itself will severely hamper the body’s ability to experience desire and arousal. It is any wonder that some folks will opt to fake orgasm with a partner in order to relieve this level of pressure and expectation?

Rather than focusing on orgasm as the measure or goal of “good sex,” it might be more beneficial to focus on the experience of pleasure itself. I know this might seem like a distinction without a difference, but it turns out to be a dramatic shift in the way we can approach sex.

Pleasure—what feels good to our physical bodies, what feels exciting and arousing in our minds, what feels uplifting emotionally—is far more varied than orgasm. There are numerous pathways to pleasure, and these can differ tremendously from person to person. How we experience pleasure may not look like what we’ve seen in pop-culture portrayals of sex, or in the formulas we’ve encountered in porn. Finding our own pathways to pleasure might involve open-ended exploration, curiosity, trial and error, and learning. It might involve stimulation solely for the sake of what feels good, rather than as a means to a destination. It also requires the willingness to communicate and be open with our partner(s), and the ability to be kind and loving to ourselves as we take steps toward truly being present for pleasure.

It is worth noting here that while difficulty achieving orgasm can happen to anyone at any time with any type of genitals or gender identity, it tends to be a more common experience for folks with vulvas who identify as women. Learned sexual scripts (how we come to understand and make meaning from sexual activity) are often heavily gendered, heteronormative, and influenced by white supremacy here in the U.S. These scripts tend to impact our feelings and beliefs about orgasm, arousal, and our bodies in many harmful ways. It can be useful to unpack those influences and expectations when exploring your own, or a partner’s, pathways to pleasure.

For those who are interested in learning more about the connections between desire, arousal, pleasure, and orgasm—both through a scientific approach as well as a cultural lens—I highly recommend Emily Nagoski’s book Come As You Are. She offers powerful insights and tools that can help re-shape our approaches to sex and pleasure.

Ultimately, it is the ability to experience and offer pleasure that leads us to satisfying sex. To borrow a phrase from Nagoski, we can use “pleasure as the measure” of our sexual experiences, rather than how many orgasms we have notched on our bedposts. When we do this, we may end up experiencing orgasm more easily and frequently as a happy byproduct. But more importantly, we open ourselves to truly enjoying our bodies, bringing genuine pleasure to our partner(s), and experiencing the shared, imperfect delight that can be found through sex. And isn’t that maybe what “good sex” is all about?