“Maybe he’s tired, maybe it’s me, maybe this is just how sex feels.” 

When sex isn’t good, the majority of Nigerian women make explanations rather than tell a partner what isn’t working. In some cases, it was a matter of protecting said partner’s ego or avoiding the uncomfortable conversation. 

We asked seven Nigerian women about the excuses they made for a man who was bad at sex, what accepting it looked like in the moment, and when the story they were telling themselves finally stopped making sense. 

1. “Let Me Not Judge Him From One Experience” – Ola*, 23

I met him at the gym, so I had high expectations. I was thinking, “This one is a gym bro, at least the energy will be there.” Unfortunately, I was very wrong. The foreplay was not giving; he finished really quickly, and I felt like I was doing most of the work. Instead of admitting the sex was bad, I told myself, “Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he’s stressed. Let me not judge him from one experience.”

It became my favourite excuse. I liked him, and I wanted there to be a reasonable explanation. I was attracted to him, and I’d already built this whole image of what he’d be like sexually. I became an Olympic-level excuse maker. During sex, he was giving pillow princess while I did most of the work. I didn’t have a serious conversation with him because I was still in my ‘maybe he’ll do better next time’ era. Then we had sex a second time. I thought this was where things would improve. Instead, this man judged me for swallowing his cum. Some of you men have a lot of confidence for people who should be focusing on their own performance.

If the same thing happens twice, you have to start questioning your theory. I wasn’t making excuses because there was a good reason. I was making them because I didn’t want to admit the sex was simply bad. I stopped trying to convince myself that everything was fine. I was lowering my expectations and calling it understanding, and questioning whether I was asking for too much when I wasn’t.

I should be able to say what I like and need, and attraction isn’t enough.  I can find someone extremely attractive and still realise that, sexually, the chemistry is giving a grand total of nothing. Omo, I ghosted him o.

2. “Maybe It Was First-time Jitters With A New Partner” – Enkay*, 35 

It was my first time with a new partner, and we’d been heavy on the foreplay for weeks. Then the day of the deed came, and it was over in five minutes. It was like he’d just jerked off because the whole experience felt like I wasn’t even involved. I told myself maybe it was first-time jitters with a new partner, and a friend validated that. I’d only had two other partners, so I also wondered if I was the inexperienced one. Maybe this was just how it was.

After a while, it became predictable: it’ll be over in ten minutes, then you’ll go back to whatever you’re doing. I’d give myself that timeline. During sex, I tried to draw pleasure from how turned on he was by my body. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I always tried to make sure we were at my place so I could ask him to leave as soon as it was over.

It was temporary. I was only in that location for a year, and we really did vibe over movies, anime and work. I didn’t want to look for another partner or risk being seen as slutty in such a small community. I never directly addressed the problem. A few times, when I was in charge of how sex went, I tried to show him what I wanted instead of telling him. Of course, that didn’t always work.

Around the same time, I had sex with someone who literally worshipped my body the first time. It opened my eyes; I started thinking, “So this is how it can be?” I could finally acknowledge that the other sex had been bad, mediocre at best, and that I should have moved on much earlier. I was still considering his feelings, so I let things fizzle out, especially since my year there was nearly over.

I really had to learn that you have to take charge of your own pleasure. Men will cum regardless. If a partner doesn’t know what they’re doing, you can speak up and tell them what works and what doesn’t. If they’re unwilling to change, feel free to wave goodbye.

3. “I Kept Thinking Something Was Wrong With Me” – Yvonne*, 27

By the second time or so, I realised this couldn’t be it. This was my first encounter with sex, but it just felt wrong. Remembering it makes me angry all over again. God will actually punish that boy. It was just about him. There was hardly ever any foreplay, although he was very particular about me not being hurt. I remember thinking my nerves weren’t sensitive enough.

I pathologised it as I often do, even now. I kept thinking something was wrong with me. Then I just accepted it. I thought that was all there was to it. Overall, he was a terrible person, so I was really warped in the head when it came to him. The adrenaline was really something. I did try to talk to him about it, but he paid me no mind and didn’t even entertain the conversation.

I accepted the other bad parts of the relationship, too, which, honestly, was all of it. I carried that lack of demanding better into everything else. I centred him and basically wanted whatever made him satisfied. After we finally parted, he tried to move toward me one more time. By then, I was disgusted with him, so I turned him down. We were already over, and he stayed gone. I just knew that what we’d had couldn’t be all there was to it, especially when there was hardly ever foreplay.

More women need to learn that sex is as much for you as it is for them, and an orgasm isn’t a myth. If there’s no foreplay, please close the chapter quickly. A man who doesn’t care if sex is satisfying for you won’t care about you in other parts of the relationship either. He centres himself in bed and everywhere else; you’re just a tool.

4. “I Had Sex With Multiple People to See If It Was Me” – Ari*, 25

When I started having sex with men, there was almost never any pleasure beyond the initial thrust. I’m such a people pleaser that I’d fake moans until he finished, and he always took forever. I had sex with multiple people to see if it was me. I liked the idea of sex more than the act.

So I took it like a champ. If I was the problem, why should it be less pleasurable for them? For the longest time, I wouldn’t even say it didn’t work for me. I’d zone out and let out moans now and again. I’ve faked orgasms to end sex multiple times. I read a lot of books growing up, and I thought that everybody couldn’t be lying about how good it is, so the self-blame just kept going.

I liked the prospect of a warm body. It was only during sex that I’d ask myself why I was there. With my first boyfriend, it was painful every time, but he’d convince me, and love would make me do it. With my last partner, I knew he liked sex a lot, so it became a chore I did for him. Conversations seemed to put partners on edge. My last partner liked trying to please me, but I figured he’d give up at some point. Moaning and allowing him to finish was easier.

One day, I woke up and realised that bad sex didn’t serve me. It was some weeks before we broke up. In those last days, he talked a lot about how we didn’t even have sex anymore. Even though I ended it, I knew it would eventually have been a dealbreaker. Afterwards, I went eight months without sex. I realised I owed nobody sex and thought I was asexual.

Just last week, I came three times from head and twice from penetration. Before, I was going years without an orgasm unless I was masturbating. With my current sexual partner, I told him head didn’t work for me, and I had written it off. He asked me to trust him and, omo, thank God I did. I’ve had so much fun. I’ve started buying and using more toys. I know now that good sex means caring about your partner’s pleasure; most of those partners didn’t really care about mine. If you do rubbish now, I’ll boo you because I know it’s not my shame to bear. I still think I’m on the asexual spectrum, but step by step. I’m getting the pleasure I missed back.

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5. “ It’s Just My Assault History Playing Tricks on Me” – Morenike*, 25

When I had sex with him for the first time, we had been kissing for a while, and then it led to fingering, and I remember thinking, “The last time I tried this with someone else, it didn’t hurt, so why does this hurt?” It felt like he was stabbing my insides. I told myself, okay, maybe different strokes for different folks.

At the time, I was dealing with a lot around sex because I’d started having flashbacks about being sexually assaulted when I was young. So I told myself, “Maybe it’s just my SA history playing tricks on me, and maybe that’s how sex is supposed to feel. He’s trying his best.” I was inexperienced, but I know now he just didn’t know how to fucking finger.

He was a situationship, and he was really sweet to me. Instead of telling him, “You kind of suck at this,” I let my inner avoidant out after sex. I accepted that he was exceptionally awful at fingering and started ignoring his messages asking me to come to his house. We’re still friends, but that’s just it.

Before I got comfortable enough in my body to want more sexual interactions, I’d prepare myself to dissociate because I didn’t know if it was going to be awful. One time, I texted my friend afterwards and asked them to call me with an emergency so I could leave. Years of staying quiet and allowing things to be done to me without speaking up had affected me. Why couldn’t I tell a nigga he didn’t know how to finger? He didn’t even give head. Na so so fingering without lube. What am I, Kanji Dam?

After him, I started telling people what I liked and didn’t like, and directing them to do better. I haven’t had a lot of sexual partners, but they’ve been pretty understanding once I started talking. I’m more comfortable saying I’m inexperienced now. Good sex, for me, means not being afraid to speak up. I also don’t care much for sex because of my demisexuality. If I build a beautiful emotional bond and desire someone sexually, that’s great. If not, I’m not going to force myself to accept casual sex.

6. “He Didn’t Give Head. Who Does That?” – Kara*, 31

He was my first consensual sexual partner ever, and I didn’t have a frame of reference for what good sex was supposed to feel like, so it took me a while to realise what was happening. The first time we tried having sex, we discovered I had trauma-related vaginismus, and for some reason, he was very frustrated by that. That should have been my first red flag, but I was young, dumb and in love, so I rationalised it away. When we finally had sex, I was a little bit drunk because I had read somewhere that alcohol helped deal with vaginismus more easily, and it did. The haze of the alcohol made me think it was decent sex. Again, with no frame of reference, I didn’t know what I was missing.

I kept telling myself that it was inexperience, and maybe I was broken because of assault. He was a lot more sexually experienced than I was and made sure I knew it by virtue of jokes. Now that I think about it, that was weird as hell. 

It was consistent for a couple of months, and then at some point, I stopped having sex in general because I got busy with work. After a while, I got my spark back and started exploring with other people, which made me realise how nice sex in general was. He lived close by, so we tried to reignite a sexual relationship, but compared to the other people I had had sexual encounters with, it was just mid. 

I tried having sex with him a couple more times after that, but I kept zoning out because it was a lot of in, out, bye-bye. I felt more like a Fleshlight than anything else. And he also didn’t give head; who does that? I was a people pleaser at the time, so all I did was just make excuses to not see him when he wanted to have sex. I kept assuring myself that this was how sex was supposed to feel, even when it was very clear to me that it wasn’t.

I tried having a conversation with him one time, where he gave me a bullshit reason about why he didn’t give head and then made the conversation about the ‘magical powers of his dick.’ No, that’s exactly what he said. Incredible. 

Never again. I’m grown, and I have told a man to get up from my body because he was doing nonsense, and it wasn’t working for me. I now move with the audacity of a man. These men would be very vocal when you’re not pleasing them, so why shouldn’t I do the same?

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7. “I Told Myself That Knowing I Could Make Him Feel Good Was Worth It” –  Tolani*, 23

I didn’t realise the sex was bad until years after I’d left the relationship. When I finally had a different experience, I thought, “Oh, this is what it’s supposed to be like,” and chuckled at everything I’d been through before.

He was the first guy I’d had sex with, so I thought it was supposed to feel that way. I was in love with him. He was my best friend, first love, first time and all that. I told myself that knowing I could make him feel good was worth it, even when it made me uncomfortable. There was nothing to compare it to; I assumed Wattpad and erotica stories were full of shit. I pushed for lots of lube because it was cold and tingly and made things more interesting. I tried to bring a vibrator into it too, because I knew I could finish with one. He didn’t seem keen, and I didn’t want him to feel emasculated. Some men think toys are an indictment of their masculinity. Thank God for journey mercies.

I knew some things I wanted even without knowing what sex could feel like. I tried to get him interested in a D/S dynamic, but he just didn’t have that dawg in him. I think he laughed at some of my kinks, so that was that. We had an unsteady relationship; we were friends with benefits, and bigger issues sometimes kept us apart or made things awkward. Towards the end, I started to accept that we weren’t going to be ‘together-together’ and that he wasn’t a good person for me. Sex stopped feeling like, “It’s not good, but at least I get to be close to him and make him happy.” It became, “Yeahh, this sucks.” We’d finish, and I’d wonder what I was still doing in his bed.

We grew more distant. I started talking to someone I found ultra attractive, who was pretty good at being a dom. That made it easier to let go. Later, I had another partner with whom the sex was also bad. This time it was worse: he thought thrusting really hard was the way to go, and sometimes it straight up hurt. I had to psyche myself up to get through it.

I think those small acts of betraying yourself add up. Women are taught to centre male partners, so it was easy to feel proud that I was making him happy while ignoring how I felt. Sometimes I felt bad about myself for letting it happen, even when it bordered on painful. I was afraid that if I made him feel bad, whatever we had would end.

Then I met someone and being with them felt like being back in secondary school: sweet and nice, almost silly. We’d inch closer on the couch and find excuses to brush against each other. The sex feels good. I like the way they look at me during it. The passion isn’t a raging flame; it’s like enjoying an orange so much you squeeze its juice into your mouth as hard as you can. Tangy, sweet, and refreshing, and you don’t want it to stop.

I’m more assertive now about how I want to be touched. I put my comfort and pleasure first because there’s no award for suffering, and I’m here for a good time. I just wish I’d known sex was actually supposed to feel good. I wouldn’t have put up with obvious mismatches for so long while telling myself, “Well, at least I’m getting some.”

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Names* have been changed and responses have been edited for clarity and flow.