Sexual Performance Shaming and Control in Black Queer Encounters

When a queer man seeks medical help for sudden erectile dysfunction, physicians almost universally approach it as a physiological issue or simple “performance anxiety.” Because providers rarely ask young men if they feel emotionally safe with their partners—and lack the framework to identify the weaponisation of sexual vulnerability—victims of sexualised emotional abuse are frequently handed prescriptions for medication rather than domestic abuse resources, completely missing the coercive control at play^[6].

Because most established models of domestic abuse and intimate partner violence (IPV) centre heteronormative relationships, they frequently fail queer victims. They overlook the specific ways coercive control works in queer contexts, especially when abusers use identity-based shaming, sexual pressure, and personal humiliation (Hilton et al., 2024)^[2].

Sexual performance shaming is a striking example. Although this pattern has not yet been widely studied as a standalone category of abuse in queer relationships, it fits within a broader pattern of queer coercive control in which abusers use body-based criticism, feminising insults, isolation, victim-blaming, and threats of gossip to dominate their partners.

This article examines how sexual performance shaming can operate as coercive control in Black queer encounters, turning bodily vulnerability, masculinity pressure, and shame into methods of domination.

Erection Disruption as Emotional Domination

What looks like an ordinary sexual problem may, in some cases, be a deeper masculinity crisis being converted into anger and control.

Black queer lived experience suggests that the deliberate disruption of an erection may be one part of a wider, deeply layered web of intimate partner abuse in Black queer relationships. Likely under-reported, this form of harm can function as a tool of emotional dominance. Because physiological arousal is highly sensitive to psychological safety, an erection can mark a moment of acute physical and emotional vulnerability.

When a partner weaponises that moment through sudden cruelty or open contempt, mocking, gaslighting, the abrupt withdrawal of intimacy, or, as one community account described, the misuse of a prescribed antidepressant, they are doing more than sabotaging a sexual encounter. They are converting vulnerability into a tool of humiliation and control.

Qualitative research on same-gender IPV shows that coercive control often works through humiliation, emotional cruelty, restriction, and mind games tailored to a partner’s vulnerabilities (Gampe et al., 2025)^[8].

Why This Pattern Hits Harder in Black Queer Contexts

This dynamic can be particularly harmful in Black queer relationships for one crucial reason. Societal norms often pressure Black men to embody hypermasculine sexual prowess—a burden rooted in both racist and homophobic stereotypes—while simultaneously expecting them to remain impervious to emotional abuse.

This tension is one of the reasons I wrote my article on “Softening the Top Label.”

An emotionally induced loss of arousal can be read as contradictory to the “strong Black man” archetype, generating profound embarrassment. Research shows that failing to meet the sexual expectations of idealised manhood—such as experiencing erectile difficulties or disrupted arousal—can trigger deep feelings of shame and a sense of “failed” masculinity in Black queer men.

Abusive partners may exploit these vulnerabilities by weaponising sexual encounters—through humiliation, performance shaming, or coercion—to exert emotional control. Further studies reveal how these experiences are compounded by intersecting systems of racism, homophobia, and rigid gender norms (English et al, 2021)^[3].

One study found that Black men, including Black gay men, are often burdened by racialised sexual stereotypes that frame them as promiscuous and hypersexual. In practice, this form of sexual racism means that some Black queer men enter intimate spaces under the weight of fantasies of constant sexual readiness, exaggerated prowess, and moral suspicion (Stacey & Forbes, 2022)^[4].

Black Gay “Tops” and the “Strong Black Man” Image

In queer male culture, the “top” label is often loaded with ideas of dominance, emotional hardness, and sexual power. For many Black gay men, these expectations can become entangled with the “strong Black man” archetype, creating pressure to appear stoic, always ready, and never vulnerable.

In my essay “Softening the Top Label,” I argue that this expectation is harmful because it denies Black queer men the freedom to express vulnerability or tenderness. When a self-identified top experiences a lapse in arousal—an erection that falters, for instance–it can collide painfully with internalised ideas of manhood, producing embarrassment, shame, and self-doubt.

In an abusive dynamic, a partner may exploit the target’s insecurities and vulnerability by mocking his sexual role, attacking his masculinity, or threatening replacement with someone “better.” Such statements do not seek connection or resolution. They are acts of humiliation designed to wound and control.

The target, already destabilised, may then begin trying to earn back approval by tolerating further mistreatment, accepting unwanted sexual demands, or, in rare cases, resorting to anger or violence to alleviate feelings of emasculation. In that way, a private moment of vulnerability is turned into a mechanism of domination, with the victim made to feel responsible for the very abuse being used against him.

Erection Loss as a Tool of Manipulation

Research indicates that male sexual dysfunction—especially performance anxiety and erectile dysfunction—may become socially dangerous when it triggers a chain reaction of shame, masculine threat, and anger that can escalate into intimate partner violence (IPV) (Hill et al, 2024)^[1].

In abusive dynamics, a manipulative partner may exploit this vulnerability to provoke a reaction, pushing the other person into behaviour that is then used against him.

For instance, if a Black gay man loses his erection during an encounter, a cruel and abusive partner might sneer that he must be “a pathetic bottom after all,” or threaten to cheat with someone “who can satisfy me.”

Under conditions of shame illiteracy, heightened shame sensitivity, masculinity threat, and weak emotional regulation, the target may be provoked into impulsive behaviour that can be turned against him.

Forms of Coercive Control Common in Black Queer Relationships

Although CPS guidance on coercive control is not Black queer-specific, it identifies several tactics that are highly relevant to Black queer relationships, including:

1. Repeatedly putting someone down, telling them they are worthless, or treating them with open contempt.
2. Turning sexual vulnerability into humiliation, degradation, or dehumanisation.
3. Using sexual pressure, including forced role expectations, to intimidate or control a partner.
4. Threatening to reveal or publish private information, including HIV status, past trauma, or other sensitive personal details.
5. Using manipulative “mind games” such as gaslighting, blame-shifting, lying, mixed messages, contradictory public and private personas, and threats of self-harm or suicide to confuse, destabilise, or entrap a partner.
6. Disclosing someone’s identity, sexual orientation, HIV status, or other medical condition without consent.
7. Isolating a person from friends, family, and support systems, including limiting access to finances, specialist services, or medical care.
8. Monitoring a person through online tools, spyware, smart devices, or social media.
9. Using shame, gossip, outing risk, and community image to keep someone compliant or silent.
10. Using a person’s relationship to alcohol or drugs as a lever of shame and control.
11. Creating dependency by exploiting vulnerabilities such as poor mental health, loneliness, addiction, or financial insecurity.

LGBTQ+ intimate partner violence (IPV) remains poorly recognised within mainstream domestic violence (DV) frameworks. Relationships between two men are often wrongly imagined as inherently less vulnerable to abuse. This leaves queer IPV treated as less serious and often overlooked, minimised, or dismissed—even by survivors themselves (Donovan & Barnes, 2019)^[5].

Why This Article, and Why Now

The point of naming erection disruption as coercive control is not to sensationalise sexual difficulty. It is to bring clarity to a form of harm that can otherwise remain hidden. Ordinary sexual difficulty is part of human life. Coercive control begins when a partner deliberately turns sexual vulnerability into humiliation, pressure, or leverage.

This distinction is especially important in Black queer encounters, where the body often enters intimacy already burdened by racialised sexual stereotypes, minority stress^[7], and masculinity pressures. In such contexts, a disruption in arousal may be felt not simply as embarrassment but as a threat to dignity, desirability, and manhood. An abusive partner can exploit this meaning, converting a private moment of vulnerability into a method of domination (Stark & Hester, 2019)^[9].

This is why the article matters now. Black queer communities, clinicians, and writers need language that can distinguish sexual difficulty from sexualised control, and shame from abuse. When someone repeatedly uses your body as a site of humiliation, pressure, or identity-based degradation, the issue is not simply sex. It is power. Naming that clearly is part of how Black queer communities build better recognition, firmer boundaries, and safer forms of intimacy.

Building Shame Literacy as a Black Queer Man in 2026

Building shame literacy as a Black queer man in 2026 is not merely a matter of personal growth. It is an act of self-preservation, emotional clarity, and cultural resistance. Shame often survives by remaining unnamed, unquestioned, and confused with other emotions.

Shame literacy is about understanding how shame works, learning how it is used, and recognising that a shame attack says more about the shamer than about yourself.

Practical Steps to Building Resistance to Shame:

1. Learn to Recognise Shame in Real Time

Shame does not always arrive as obvious self-hatred or self-judgment. It often takes more socially acceptable forms: overperformance, emotional shutdown, defensiveness, silence, people-pleasing, overexplaining, groupthink loyalty, sexual proving, the pressure to appear unbothered, or even the urge to shame others first.

In Black queer life, shame can attach itself to masculinity scripts, softness policing, desirability, class, body image, femininity, sexual role, HIV stigma, family respectability, and the fear of being seen as “too much” or “not enough.” Shame literacy begins when you learn to catch the moment your body tenses, your mind contracts, and you start shrinking in response to these pressures.

2. Identify the Trigger and Name the Actual Script

The moment you feel exposed, small, or suddenly desperate to prove yourself, stop and ask: What exactly got touched here? Then ask a second question: What script just got activated? Was it the script that says a Black man must always be strong? That I must perform sexually to prove I am a top? That any association with drugs makes me worthless or suspect? That softness makes me less desirable? That queerness makes me less of a man?

When you can identify not just the feeling, but the script beneath it, shame becomes easier to disarm.

3. Study Shame: Its Sources, How It Spreads, How It Changes

Much Black queer shame is inherited, not chosen. It can come from religion, family silence, anti-Blackness, queerphobia, sexual racism, masculinity policing, or communities that reward performance over honesty. To build shame literacy, do not only ask what shame feels like. Study where it came from, how it travels, how it reproduces itself, and how it changes form over time.

Shame is not just a private emotion. It is also a tool of social control. People use it to humiliate, rank, silence, diminish, sexualise, feminise, isolate, and manipulate others. In Black queer contexts, this may appear as mocking softness, questioning your masculinity, comparing you to other men, shaming sexual roles, body shaming, outing threats, HIV-related stigma, or treating vulnerability as weakness.

The key question to ask here is: What is this person trying to make me feel small enough to accept? Once you begin to see shame as a targeted tactic, not just a feeling, you start to recognise the insecurity it is trying to mask.

If someone is trying to make you feel small, they may be struggling to tolerate your power.
If someone is trying to humiliate you, something in you may have disturbed their sense of status or importance.
Someone trying to make you lose clarity may be threatened by your insight and independent thinking.

Once you understand the real message behind a shame attack, you will feel pity for the shamer rather than doubt your power. Shame is often the last game of a defeated man.

4. Rebuild Your Identity Around Truth, Not Performance

The aim of shame literacy is not to eliminate shame, but to prevent Black queer men from collapsing under it. It is about cultivating enough inner alignment that shame meets resistance rather than immediate surrender. Shame gains its greatest power when we are divided against ourselves. Internal misalignment creates the entry point for shame to exploit.

Consider a simple example: you present yourself publicly as a total top, even though your desires are more flexible. When shame targets that identity, the pain lands hard and deep—not only because of social pressure, but because part of you knows you have been performing rather than living honestly. The wound comes not just from the attack, but from the gap between who you present to the public and who you actually are.

This is why shame literacy only becomes real when performance is replaced with truth. Define masculinity, strength, tenderness, desirability, and self‑respect in ways that serve your values rather than betray them. Shame has limited power over a man who knows his truth. In most painful collapses into shame, the fracture of doubt already existed; shame simply exploits it as its point of entry.

Recognising and Responding to Coercive Control

Taking the step to report abuse or seek support is an act of courage—especially when facing coercive control, which often operates in silence and shadows. This form of abuse manipulates, gaslights, and erodes your confidence, convincing you that no one will believe you or that what you’re experiencing isn’t “real” violence.

But it is real. And it is a crime.

A Practical Guide for LGBTQ+ and Male Survivors in the UK

Trust your instincts—if something feels unsafe, it probably is. This guide outlines how to recognise coercive control, protect your safety, and access support—specifically tailored for LGBTQ+ individuals and men in the UK.

1. Prioritise Immediate Safety

If you are in danger:

• Call 999 – In an emergency, always dial 999.
• Silent Solution – If you can’t speak, dial 999 and press 55 when prompted. This alerts the police that you need help but cannot talk.

2. Access Specialist LGBTQ+ and Male Support

Mainstream services often overlook the unique dynamics of abuse in queer relationships. These organisations understand the specific challenges, including identity-based abuse, sexual coercion, and threats of outing.

• Galop (LGBT+ Domestic Abuse Helpline)
  Confidential, non-judgemental support for LGBTQ+ people.
  📞 0800 999 5428 | 🌐 https://galop.org.uk
• Men’s Advice Line (by Respect)
  Support for male survivors of domestic abuse.
  📞 0808 8010327 | 🌐 https://mensadviceline.org.uk
• National Domestic Abuse Helpline (by Refuge)
  24/7 support and signposting for all survivors.
  📞 0808 2000 247

3. Know Your Rights: Coercive Control Is Illegal

Under the Serious Crime Act 2015, controlling or coercive behaviour in intimate or family relationships is a criminal offence in England and Wales.

The law recognises patterns of behaviour that cause fear, distress, or serious impact on daily life—even without physical violence.

If safe, begin documenting:

• Diary – Record incidents with dates, times, and details (e.g. threats, sexual coercion, financial control).
• Evidence – Save screenshots, emails, and voicemails.
• Witnesses – Confide in someone you trust (friend, GP, therapist) who can later corroborate your experience.

4. Plan for Digital and Physical Safety

Abusers may monitor your devices or movements. To protect yourself when seeking help:

• Clear browsing history or use private/incognito mode when researching support.
• Use safe devices – Try a friend’s phone, a library computer, or a work device.
• Pack an escape bag – Include essentials: ID, meds, cash, clothes. Store it safely.

5. Seek Healing and Support

Coercive control can leave deep emotional scars. Rebuilding your sense of self is a process—and you don’t have to do it alone.

• Seek LGBTQ+ affirmative, trauma-informed therapy.
• Connect with community services like MindOut: https://www.mindout.org.uk
• Rebuild your confidence and self-worth at your own pace.

Final Words

Remember: You are not alone. You are not to blame. You are not invisible.
Reaching out is not weakness—it’s power

Reaching out to a service like Galop can be a safe, confidential first step. They will support you at your pace, without pressure or judgement.

Related Conceptual Frameworks

1. Masculinity Anchors Model (MAM): Explains why erection loss can feel especially destabilising for Black queer men by showing how masculinity is often treated as a socially conferred status rather than a private fact.
2. Masculinity Conflict Framework (MCF): A risk-reduction and decision-support tool for one-to-one conflict in status-sensitive environments, organised around the sequence Cause → Clarity → Repair → Protection.
3. Absurdity Reps Method (ARM): A shame-regulation practice designed to help Black queer people withstand humiliation, ridicule, and identity-targeting attacks without defending their worth or shrinking themselves.
4. The Shame “Void”: Helps explain why sexual shaming can hit so hard by framing shame as a threat state that can consolidate into a trigger-sensitive internal void, where humiliation, rejection, and worthlessness are processed as danger rather than as ordinary emotion.
5. Dynamic Disclosure Model (DDM): Frames disclosure not as a simple in/out binary but as a strategic negotiation shaped by safety and survival. It is useful for clarifying that closeting itself is not abuse; abuse begins when secrecy is imposed unilaterally to regulate, restrict, or dominate a partner.
6. Mandem, DL and Power: Explains how masculinity performance, DL secrecy, dependency engineering, isolation, and the withholding of affection or stability can function as tools of control.

References

1. Hill, T. D., Garcia-Alexander, G., Sileo, K., Fahmy, C., Testa, A., Luttinen, R., & Schroeder, R. (2024). Male sexual dysfunction and the perpetration of intimate partner violence. Violence Against Women, 30(12–13), 3234–3250. https://doi.org/10.1177/10778012231174348
2. Hilton, N. Z., Ham, E., Radatz, D. L., Smith, C. M., Snow, N., Wintermute, J., Jennings-Fitz-Gerald, E., Lee, J., & Patterson, S. (2024). Coercive control in 2SLGBTQQIA+ relationships: A scoping review. Trauma, Violence, & Abuse, 25(5), 3713–3728. https://doi.org/10.1177/15248380241257957
3. English, D., Carter, J. A., Boone, C. A., Forbes, N., Bowleg, L., Malebranche, D. J., Talan, A. J., & Rendina, H. J. (2021). Intersecting structural oppression and Black sexual minority men’s health. American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 60(6), 781–791. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.amepre.2020.12.022
4. Stacey, L., & Forbes, T. Q. D. (2022). Feeling like a fetish: Racialized feelings, fetishization, and the contours of sexual racism on gay dating apps. The Journal of Sex Research, 59(3), 372–384. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224499.2021.1979455
5. Donovan, C., & Barnes, R. (2019). Help-seeking among lesbian, gay, bisexual and/or transgender victims/survivors of domestic violence and abuse: The impacts of cisgendered heteronormativity and invisibility. Journal of Sociology, 56(4), 554–570. https://doi.org/10.1177/1440783319882088
6. Donovan, C., & Barnes, R. (2020). Queering narratives of domestic violence and abuse. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-35403-9
7. Meyer, I. H. (2003). Prejudice, social stress, and mental health in lesbian, gay, and bisexual populations: Conceptual issues and research evidence. Psychological Bulletin, 129(5), 674–697. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.129.5.674
8. Gampe, M., Jeffries, S., & Rathus, Z. (2025). “A kiss delivered as a punch”: Coercively controlling tactics in Australian women’s same-gender intimate relationships. International Journal for Crime, Justice and Social Democracy, 14(3), 37–49. https://doi.org/10.5204/ijcjsd.3254
9. Stark, E., & Hester, M. (2019). Coercive control: Update and review. Violence Against Women, 25(1), 81–104. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077801218816191