Porn has probably shaped your expectations around sex more than you realise.
This isn’t a moral judgement, we make porn ourselves. What I am here to discuss is the gap between what porn shows us and what actually happens in real intimate encounters, because that gap creates confusion, disappointment and sometimes genuine harm for people trying to navigate their actual sex lives.
As an intimacy provider, I see the aftermath of this gap constantly. People arrive with expectations about how bodies should look, how quickly arousal should happen, what sex should feel like and how communication should work, all based on a medium that was actually designed for visual entertainment.
Porn has become the de facto sex education for millions of people, and it was never meant to serve that purpose.
The main difference: performance vs connection
The most important thing to understand about porn is that it’s a performance medium. Everything you see has been choreographed, edited and optimised for visual appeal to the viewer. The goal is to create something that looks exciting on camera, not to accurately represent what feels good for the people involved.
Real sex is about connection, communication and mutual pleasure. It’s messy, awkward, funny, intimate and deeply personal. It involves negotiation, feedback, adjustment and genuine presence with another human being. These elements don’t always translate well to a screen, so porn necessarily strips them away in favour of visual spectacle.
This isn’t a criticism of porn itself. It’s simply acknowledging that porn is a fantasy medium, like action films or romantic comedies. Problems arise when people internalise these fantasies as blueprints for reality and then feel inadequate when their actual experiences don’t match what they’ve seen on screen.
Where porn diverges from reality
Here are some examples of how these two things can diverge.
Bodies and anatomy
Porn predominantly features bodies that represent a very narrow slice of human diversity. The performers are often selected for specific physical characteristics that read well on camera rather than representing the full spectrum of how bodies actually look.
This creates really unrealistic expectations about genital size and appearance, breast shape, body hair, skin texture and overall physique. I’ve connected with people who felt deeply ashamed of their completely normal bodies because they didn’t match what they’d seen in porn. I used to be one of these people myself!
The reality is that bodies are wonderfully diverse. Genitals come in countless variations of size, shape, colour and configuration. Breasts exist in every imaginable combination of size, shape and symmetry. Body hair grows in different patterns and densities. Skin has texture, marks, scars and variations in tone. All of these variations are normal, and none of them prevent people from experiencing pleasure or being sexy as hell!
Arousal and readiness
In porn, arousal appears to happen instantly. One moment people are fully clothed, the next they’re engaged in intense sexual activity with no real transition period. Bodies seem perpetually ready, lubricated and responsive without much (or any) warm-up or preparation.
Real arousal, particularly for people with vulvas, takes time. As I’ve discussed in my previous insights, the physical process of arousal involves increased blood flow, natural lubrication, tissue swelling and muscle relaxation. This typically takes 20 to 45 minutes or more, not the 30 seconds suggested by most porn.
Porn also rarely shows the use of lubricant, creating the impression that bodies should naturally produce unlimited lubrication regardless of circumstances. In reality, natural lubrication varies enormously based on multiple factors and a vulva that isn’t naturally wet is not a marker for your desirability or adequacy.
Communication and consent
Porn typically features little to no verbal communication. Partners seem to intuitively know what each other wants, desires align perfectly without discussion and everyone proceeds with activities without explicit negotiation or consent.
Real intimacy requires ongoing communication. Partners need to discuss boundaries, preferences, comfort levels and desires. They need to check in during activities to ensure everyone is still enjoying themselves. They need to provide feedback about what feels good and what doesn’t. This communication can be verbal, non-verbal or a combination, but it needs to happen.
The lack of visible consent negotiation in porn is particularly problematic because it suggests that good sex should be wordless and intuitive. This leaves people feeling like asking questions or expressing preferences is unsexy or indicates incompetence. In reality, the ability to communicate clearly about sex is one of the most attractive and valuable skills you can develop.
Duration and pacing
Porn often depicts marathon sessions of intense activity with no breaks, position changes every few minutes and extended periods of vigorous penetration. This creates expectations about sexual stamina and duration that don’t reflect how most people’s bodies actually function.
Real sex involves natural fluctuations in intensity, breaks for water, moments of rest and often considerably shorter durations of specific activities than porn suggests. Most penetrative sex lasts between 3 and 13 minutes on average, not the 30-plus minute sessions common in porn.
The constant position changes in porn also serve a visual purpose rather than reflecting what actually feels good. In reality, finding a rhythm and position that works well and staying with it often creates more pleasure than constantly switching things up.
The orgasm expectation
Porn typically shows simultaneous orgasms, multiple orgasms and intense, performative climaxes with lots of vocalisation and visible physical responses. Everyone seems to orgasm easily and reliably from any type of stimulation.
Real orgasms are considerably more variable. As I’ve discussed previously, most women don’t orgasm from penetration alone. Orgasms take different amounts of time for different people, look and sound different, and don’t always happen even during satisfying sexual encounters. Simultaneous orgasms are lovely when they occur but are not the standard by which sex should be judged.
The performative nature of porn orgasms also creates pressure to demonstrate pleasure in visibly obvious ways. This leads to people faking orgasms or feeling inadequate if their genuine responses are quieter or less dramatic than what they’ve seen on screen. Once upon a time I used to fake all my orgasms because I thought that was the “correct” thing to do.
The focus on specific acts
Porn tends to prioritise certain sexual acts, particularly penetrative sex, whilst giving minimal attention to other forms of intimacy that many people find equally or more pleasurable. This creates a hierarchy where some activities are seen as “real sex” whilst others are dismissed as mere preliminaries.
In reality, there’s no hierarchy of sexual acts. What matters is what feels good and creates connection for the people involved. For many, extended foreplay, oral sex, hand stimulation, sensual massage or other non-penetrative activities are the most delicious parts of intimate encounters.
The narrow focus on penetration in porn also excludes or marginalises many forms of sexuality and many types of bodies. It suggests that sex without penetration isn’t “real” sex, which is deeply limiting and inaccurate.
Why this matters in real life relationships
The distortions around sexual performance actively shape how people approach their own intimate lives, often in ways that create problems.
I’ve worked with many men who felt inadequate because they didn’t have porn-sized penises or couldn’t maintain erections for extended periods of time. I’ve worked with women who felt ashamed of their “big” vulvas, their pubic hair, their bodies or the time they needed to become aroused.
I’ve worked with people who believed they should instinctively know what their partners wanted without asking, leading to years of unfulfilling sex because neither person felt comfortable communicating honestly or openly.
The performance pressure created by porn expectations is enormous. People feel they need to look a certain way, respond a certain way, last a certain amount of time and demonstrate pleasure in specific ways. This transforms sex from an experience of mutual exploration and connection into a performance where you’re constantly monitoring and judging yourself.
This self-consciousness prevents presence. When you’re worried about whether you look attractive from a particular angle, whether you’re taking too long, whether you’re being too quiet or whether your technique matches what you’ve seen in porn, you cannot fully inhabit the experience. You’re performing rather than connecting, which undermines the entire point of intimacy!
The lack of communication modelled in porn is damaging. It teaches people that good lovers should intuitively understand their partners’ desires without discussion, which is simply impossible. Every human body is different, preferences vary, and what worked with one partner won’t necessarily work with another. The only way to navigate this is through actual communication, but porn suggests this communication isn’t really that necessary.
A little bit more on penises and erections
One of the most damaging myths perpetuated by porn involves penis size and erection reliability. Porn predominantly features penises that are considerably larger than average and that remain consistently, rigidly erect throughout extended sessions regardless of activity, position changes or duration.
This creates enormous pressure and anxiety for men whose bodies function like actual human bodies.
Size
The average erect penis is between 12 and 16 centimetres in length. Porn tends to feature penises significantly above this range, creating the false impression that larger is standard. You end up with men who feel inadequate about perfectly normal, functional anatomy.
Erections
Perhaps even more damaging than size expectations are the myths around erection reliability. In porn, erections appear instantly, remain rock-solid throughout extended activity and never waver regardless of position changes, interruptions or duration.
Real erections fluctuate. They can be affected by stress, tiredness, anxiety, alcohol, medication, temperature, distraction, nervousness and countless other factors. An erection might be strong at the beginning of an encounter and soften during activity. It might come and go multiple times. It might take time to achieve or never reach firmness on a particular occasion.
This is normal and simply how bodies work. Yet because porn never shows this natural fluctuation, men often panic when their erections don’t behave like the ones on screen, which creates performance anxiety that makes their anxiety worse and limits their ability to be hard due to the stress associated.
The expectation of mechanical reliability created by porn is simply not how human bodies operate.
Performance pressure
This creates a vicious cycle. Men feel pressure to maintain constant, rigid erections because that’s what porn has taught them is normal and expected. This pressure creates anxiety. Anxiety interferes with arousal and erection quality. The erection softens or doesn’t appear, which confirms their fear that something is wrong, which creates more anxiety for future encounters.
Meanwhile, partners may also have absorbed porn’s messaging and interpret a softer or fluctuating erection as lack of attraction or inadequacy on their part. This creates additional pressure as both people become focused on achieving and maintaining an erection rather than simply enjoying connection and pleasure together.
Some women even believed that they are unattractive, or are doing something wrong, if the men they share intimacy with are not continuously hard during those experiences. These are gross misconception that can have strong negative effects on overall confidence and self-esteem for both partners.
The reality is that penetrative sex doesn’t require a rock-solid erection to be pleasurable for anyone involved. Many people find that slightly softer erections actually feel better because there’s more give and flexibility. There are also countless ways to experience pleasure and connection that don’t involve erections at all.
Moving into a healthier mindset around performance
If you’ve absorbed these unrealistic expectations about your own or your partner’s penis, it’s worth actively working to recalibrate your understanding. Erections fluctuate naturally, and this fluctuation doesn’t indicate lack of attraction, inadequacy or dysfunction. Size matters far less than you’ve been led to believe, and plenty of satisfying sex happens with partially erect or even non-erect penises.
Communication becomes essential here. If an erection softens during sex, instead of panicking or making it mean something about attraction or adequacy, simply acknowledge it and shift to something else that feels good. Oral sex, manual stimulation, sensual touch or taking a break and returning later are all good options. The encounter doesn’t need to end just because one particular body part isn’t cooperating in a particular moment.
For partners, understanding that erection fluctuations are normal helps you avoid taking them personally or creating additional pressure. Your response to a softening erection can either escalate the anxiety or diffuse it entirely. Responding with patience, reassurance and willingness to explore other forms of pleasure creates safety that often allows natural arousal to return.
The goal isn’t perfect erection performance. It’s genuine connection and mutual pleasure, which can happen in countless ways regardless of what any particular body part is doing at any given moment.
How we approach our own content creation
Axel and I create our own content for platforms like OnlyFans. The reason we do this is because we believe people deserve to see what real intimacy actually looks like between two people who genuinely care about each other. Not the sanitised, edited, perfectly performed version that mainstream porn offers, but the authentic, deeply connecting reality.
Our content isn’t always professionally choreographed or edited to remove the human moments. Occasionally you’ll see us laughing when something unexpected happens, adjusting positions because my knee got uncomfortable, pausing because someone sneezed or getting the giggles midway. We don’t hide the communication that happens during sex. You will sometimes hear us checking in with each other, asking “is this good?” or “want to try something different?” because that’s what actual intimate connection looks like.
Our subscribers often tell us that seeing our genuine connection, our laughter, communication, sensuality and our obvious care for each other has helped them understand what they should be looking for in their own intimate lives. They’ve learnt that sex doesn’t need to be a flawless performance and that the human moments, the adjustments, the check-ins and the laughter don’t detract from intimacy.
This isn’t to say our content is somehow superior or that we’re doing our porn “the right way”. We’re simply offering an alternative that shows real bodies, real arousal timelines, real communication and real connection. For people who’ve primarily consumed mainstream porn, seeing what authentic intimacy looks like can be revolutionary.
Recalibrating your expectations
These are some things a person can do if they want to recalibrate their expectations around sex.
Recognise porn as fantasy
The first step is simply acknowledging that porn is a fantasy medium rather than a documentary or how-to guide. This doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy porn, but it does mean approaching it with the understanding that what you’re seeing is more than likely a choreographed performance rather than authentic representation.
Nobody watches action films thinking real combat involves walking away from explosions without a scratch or shaking off falls that would hospitalise actual humans. Bring that same awareness to porn. It’s a visual medium prioritising spectacle over accuracy, and there’s nothing wrong with that provided you can recognise what you’re actually watching.
Seek out better information
If porn has been your primary source of sex education, it’s worth actively seeking out more accurate information. There are excellent resources available including books, websites, podcasts and educators who discuss sexuality from evidence-based, pleasure-positive perspectives.
Understanding basic anatomy, how arousal actually works, the importance of communication and the diversity of sexual expression can help you develop more realistic and helpful frameworks for your own intimate life.
Practice communication
One of the most important skills you can develop is the ability to communicate openly about sex. This means discussing desires, boundaries, preferences and comfort levels with partners. It means asking questions, providing feedback and checking in during intimate encounters.
If you’ve absorbed the message that communication is unsexy or indicates incompetence, challenge that belief directly. In reality, the ability to discuss sex openly is incredibly attractive because it demonstrates emotional intelligence, genuine interest in your partner’s experience and confidence in yourself.
Start practising these conversations outside the bedroom first. Discuss what you enjoy, what you’re curious about and what your boundaries are when you’re not in the middle of sexual activity. This makes it easier to communicate in the moment when you need to change something or express a preference.
Expand your definition of sex
Move beyond the narrow definition of sex portrayed in porn. Recognise that intimacy encompasses a wide range of activities and that there’s no hierarchy where some acts are “real sex” whilst others aren’t.
Give yourself permission to explore what actually feels good rather than what you think should feel good based on what you’ve seen. Maybe you’ll discover that extended foreplay is your favourite part, perhaps you’ll find that certain positions porn portrays as standard are actually uncomfortable for your body. Maybe you’ll realise that slower, gentler approaches create more pleasure than intense, vigorous activity.
Practice self acceptance
If porn has created shame about your body or your partner’s body, actively work to challenge those feelings. Remind yourself that the bodies in porn represent an incredibly narrow slice of human diversity and that bodies don’t need to look any particular way to be worthy of pleasure and desire.
Practice appreciation for what your body can do rather than how it looks. Notice the sensations it can experience, the pleasure it can feel, the connections it makes possible. Extend this same appreciation to your partners’ bodies, recognising that real bodies are far more interesting and worthy of celebration than the homogeneous representations in porn.
Be realistic about performance
Let go of the expectation that sex should be a seamless, extended, intensely vigorous performance. Real sex involves breaks, adjustments, laughter, awkwardness and moments where things don’t go as planned.
Allow yourself to be human rather than performative. If you need a break, take one. If something isn’t working, adjust it. If you need more time or different stimulation, communicate that. Your partner likely feels the same pressure to perform, and giving yourself permission to be authentic helps create space for them to do the same.
Focus on connection
Instead of trying to recreate scenes from porn, focus on genuine connection with your partner. Pay attention to their responses, communicate about what feels good, stay present in the experience and allow things to unfold naturally.
The most satisfying intimate encounters are the ones where both people feel genuinely connected, seen and valued. That connection can’t be choreographed or performed. It emerges when you’re both willing to be authentic and vulnerable with each other.
A final perspective
Porn isn’t inherently bad or harmful. It can serve as fantasy, entertainment and even inspiration when approached with appropriate context. The problem isn’t porn itself but the lack of comprehensive sex education that would provide people with the tools to contextualise what they’re seeing.
If we had robust, accurate, pleasure-positive sex education that taught people about anatomy, arousal, communication, consent and the diversity of sexual expression, porn would simply be one form of entertainment among many.
But in the absence of that education, porn fills the void, and many absorb its distortions as truth. This creates unnecessary shame, performance pressure and confusion that interferes with the actual intimate connections people are trying to build.
You do not need to reject everything you’ve learned or feel guilty about the influence porn has had on your understanding of sex. It’s just about focusing on what actually creates pleasure and connection in your real life rather than what looks good on a screen.
Real sex is messier, funnier, more awkward and more deeply connecting than porn portrays. It involves communication, adjustment, vulnerability and presence. It doesn’t always look impressive, but it feels authentic. And authentic connection, however imperfect it might appear, is infinitely more valuable than any performance could ever be.
Your intimate life doesn’t need to resemble porn to be satisfying. In fact, it will likely be far more fulfilling when you stop trying to recreate fantasies and start exploring what genuinely works for you and your partners.
Give yourself permission to be human, communicate openly with your intimate partner, focus on genuine pleasure. Challenge the expectations that don’t serve you and please remember that the goal isn’t to look good or match some kind of “normal” standard. It’s to feel connected, present and alive in your own body and in your connections with others.
That’s what real intimacy looks like, and it’s so much more beautiful than anything you’ll see on a screen.
Love Evie