Last month I was seeing this bloke. Let’s call him Jake. Nice enough on paper. Worked in some tech start-up, wore those stupid chunky trainers everyone in Hackney seems to own, and kept going on about how he was “emotionally intelligent.” We’d been shagging for about three weeks. Every single time we got horizontal, same routine. He’d flop back on my bed like he’d just run a marathon, look me dead in the eye with this lazy little grin, and say the magic words: “Babe… can you sort me out first?”
Sort him out.
Like I’m the fucking waitress and his dick is the main course.
And me? I’d do it. Because I’m a people-pleaser at heart even when I’m screaming internally. I’d get on my knees, put in the work, make the noises, the whole performance. And when he was done, usually about four minutes later, groaning like he’d discovered fire, he’d pat my head like a bloody Labrador and go, “Your turn, yeah?”
Your turn.
Except his version of “your turn” was him sticking two fingers in for thirty seconds, maybe a half-hearted lick if he was feeling generous, then climbing on top and jackhammering away until he came again. Then straight to the shower. Phone in hand. Leaving me lying there like a used tissue.
I finally snapped on the fourth time it happened. We were in my flat, post-coital glow nowhere to be seen. I was still tasting him and feeling that familiar ache of unfinished business when I said it.
“Jake. Why is it you expect me to suck your dick every single time but eating me out feels like I’m asking you to clean the oven?”
He actually laughed. Laughed. Then hit me with the killer line that inspired this whole bloody article.
“Babe, it’s just… different innit? Giving head is easier for girls. And I mean, I do it sometimes. It’s extra, though.”
Extra.
I wanted to throw my vape at his head.
So here we are. Four thousand words of me absolutely rinsing this absolute nonsense because I know I’m not the only one. If you’ve ever been left high and dry while he’s scrolling TikTok two minutes after he’s finished, this one’s for you, hun.
Let’s start with the obvious. Oral sex isn’t “extra.” It’s not a bonus round. It’s not optional DLC you unlock after you’ve paid the subscription fee of making him cum first. It’s foreplay. It’s the main event. It’s basic fucking decency.
But somehow, in 2026, we’re still having this conversation.
I put a call out on my Instagram stories the other day. Just a simple question: “Be honest, how many of you have been with a bloke who expects head every time but treats going down on you like a chore?”
The replies flooded in so fast my phone nearly crashed. Over four hundred in the first hour. Women from Basildon to bloody Brisbane. Same story, different postcode.
One girl said her ex literally timed it. He’d set a three-minute timer on his phone for her turn. Three minutes. Then he’d tap out and say “I’m tired babe, maybe next time.” Next time never came. She stayed with him for eight months. Eight months of one-way oral traffic. I wanted to reach through the screen and shake her.
Another one told me her situationship would literally say “I don’t really like the taste” while expecting her to deepthroat him after a night at the pub. The taste. As if our vaginas are some gourmet dish and his dick is a McDonald’s cheeseburger. Mate, we all have bodies. Get over it.
And don’t even get me started on the ones who think a couple of sloppy licks counts as “doing their bit.” You know the type. They go down there like they’re checking the oil in a car. Quick glance, one awkward tongue flick, then back up for the main performance. Cheers for that, hun. Really hit the spot.
This isn’t just bad manners. It’s a symptom. A big, throbbing, patriarchal symptom of how men have been taught that their pleasure is the default setting and ours is… well, whatever’s left over.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Partly because I’m thirty in a few months and my tolerance for selfish lovers has hit absolute zero. But mostly because every time I scroll the timeline there’s another thread about “the male loneliness epidemic” or “why aren’t women having more sex” and I just want to scream into the void.
Babes. Maybe if you actually made sex good for us, we’d be queuing round the block.
Let me take you back to my first proper boyfriend. I was nineteen, fresh out of college, still living in Basildon with Mum. He was twenty-one, worked at the car wash, thought he was God’s gift because he had a souped-up Corsa. First time we slept together he came in about ninety seconds. Fair enough, it happens. But then he rolled off me, lit a fag, and said “Your go then.”
I was like… my go? I’d never even had an orgasm at that point. I didn’t know what my go was supposed to look like. So I just sort of lay there confused until he got impatient and guided my head down.
That set the tone for the next two years. Every single encounter started and ended with me on my knees. When I finally worked up the courage to ask for something in return he looked genuinely offended. “I’m not really into that,” he said. Like it was a preference. Like pineapple on pizza.
I stayed because I was young and thick and thought that’s just how it was. All my mates were having the same experience. One of them actually said to me “At least he lets you finish yourself off after.” As if that was a green flag.
It took me moving to London, starting my journalism career, and having one genuinely decent shag with a guy who actually enjoyed going down on me for me to realise what I’d been missing. The difference was night and day. I felt seen. Wanted. Like my body wasn’t just a vessel for his orgasm. It was addictive. I started expecting better. And suddenly the selfish ones stood out like sore thumbs.
So why do they do it? Why is this so bloody common?
I’ve got theories. Loads of them.
First off, porn. Obviously. The vast majority of mainstream porn treats women’s pleasure as background noise at best and non-existent at worst. You watch enough of that crap and you start thinking a woman cumming is some mythical unicorn event that happens by accident. Meanwhile blowjobs are presented as the baseline. The entry ticket. No wonder so many blokes think our mouths exist purely for their entertainment.
Second, the way we raise boys. They’re taught from day one that their desires are normal and natural and should be pursued. Girls? We’re taught to be accommodating. To be nice. To not make a fuss. To fake it so we don’t bruise their precious egos. By the time they’re adults most of them have never once been told that good sex is a two-player game.
Third — entitlement. Pure and simple. They’ve spent their entire sexual lives being told they’re the prize. That women should be grateful for their attention. So when one of us dares to ask for equal effort it feels like an attack. Like we’re being difficult. Demanding. High-maintenance.
I had one guy actually say to me “You’re really bossy in bed, you know that?” Because I asked him to slow down and actually pay attention to my clit. Bossy. For wanting to enjoy myself. The audacity.
Let’s talk about the physical reality for a second. Because men love to pretend there’s some biological reason why eating pussy is harder work than getting head. It’s not. It’s really not.
Yes, it takes a bit more focus. Yes, you might get jaw ache if you’re down there for twenty minutes. Boo fucking hoo.
Try having someone’s entire weight on top of you while they thrust like they’re trying to win a race. Try pretending to enjoy it when all you can think about is whether you remembered to buy oat milk.
And the smell thing? The taste thing? Give me a break. We deal with your ball sweat after a day at the gym. We taste whatever you had for lunch. We still show up and put in the work. The least you can do is return the favour without acting like you’re being waterboarded.
I interviewed a sex therapist for this piece, proper one, not some Instagram influencer with a book deal. She told me something that stuck with me. “The oral sex gap isn’t about anatomy,” she said. “It’s about whose pleasure society has decided matters.”
She’s right. We’ve built an entire sexual culture around male orgasm as the finish line. Everything else is optional. Foreplay? Optional. Her orgasm? Optional. Emotional connection? Optional. But his dick getting sucked? Non-negotiable.
It’s exhausting.
I’ve started doing this thing now where on the first date I just come straight out with it. Not in a weird way. But I’ll casually drop something like “I’m a big believer in equal effort in bed, by the way.” Watch their reaction. The ones who laugh nervously or change the subject? Immediate red flag. The ones who lean in and say “Hell yes” with actual enthusiasm? Green flag the size of Essex.
It’s not about keeping score. It’s not about “you owe me.” It’s about basic respect. About seeing your partner as a whole person with needs and desires that matter just as much as yours. Is that really so revolutionary?
The replies to my story poll kept coming in long after I expected. One woman sent me a voice note at 2am that made me proper emotional. She’d been married for twelve years. Twelve years of dutifully giving head whenever he wanted, never once receiving the same. She finally left him last month after he told her she was “selfish” for asking for more. She’s thirty-eight and having the best sex of her life with a new guy who apparently can’t get enough of going down on her. She cried in the voice note. Happy tears. Told me she felt like she’d been let out of prison.
That’s what this is about, babes. Freedom. From the expectation that our bodies exist for their convenience. From the quiet resentment that builds up when you’re constantly giving more than you get. From the exhaustion of pretending it’s fine.
I’m not saying every man is like this. I know they’re not. I’ve slept with a handful of genuinely generous lovers who treated my pleasure like it was their favourite hobby. They exist. They’re out there. But they’re rarer than a Tory with principles.
And the rest? The Jake’s of the world? They need calling out. Loudly. Repeatedly. Until the message sinks in.
So here’s my challenge to any bloke reading this who recognises himself in these stories. Next time you’re in bed with a woman, before you even think about asking for head, ask yourself this: when was the last time I made her cum with my mouth? And I don’t mean a quick lick before you move on to the main event. I mean properly. Enthusiastically. Like you actually enjoy it. Like her pleasure is the point, not the warm-up act.
If the answer is “never” or “ages ago” then sort yourself out. Read some actual sex education that isn’t from Pornhub. Ask her what she likes. Listen. Take notes. Put the work in.
Because here’s the thing. The women who are good at giving head? We didn’t come out the womb knowing how. We learned. We practised. We paid attention to what you liked and adjusted. We put in the emotional labour of making you feel desired even when we weren’t particularly in the mood.
It’s about time you returned the favour.
I’m done being polite about this. Done biting my tongue when some self-proclaimed “feminist ally” still expects me to service him like it’s 1952. Done accepting “extra” as the baseline for my own pleasure.
If you’re a woman reading this and you’re tired of the same old one-sided bullshit, I see you. I’ve been you. You deserve better. You deserve someone who gets excited at the thought of making you feel good. Someone who doesn’t treat your orgasm like an optional side quest.
And if you’re one of the good ones, the blokes who actually enjoy going down and making sure she’s satisfied first? Thank you. Sincerely. From the bottom of my very well-satisfied heart. Keep doing what you’re doing. The rest of them need to take notes.
Right. I’ve gone on long enough and my flat white’s gone cold. But before I sign off I want to leave you with one last thought.
Sex should be fun. For both of us. It should be messy and enthusiastic and equal. It should leave you glowing, not quietly seething while he checks his fantasy football scores.
If it’s not? Speak up. Demand better. Or walk away and find someone who understands that eating pussy isn’t “extra” — it’s fucking minimum.
Welcome to the coven, babes.
Let’s stop settling for scraps.
— Emma x
