by Daniel Nkado
It seems every year — or less — the Black gay community discovers a new trend to turn into fashion and use as another tool for social division. The script gets passed around like a casting call, and the community’s many thespians quickly learn their lines. For every fresh catchphrase, there are two boxes: the glamour box, for those who perform it well, and the gloom box, for those who don’t make the cut.
The latest addition to this never-ending theatre? The cult of the tight hole.
Apparently, “tight holes” are seen as the almost inspirational sign that someone is not “too popular”, “too active,” or “has not had too much sex” (scratch that, has not bottomed too much, if at all). It’s supposed to signal restraint, purity, or even superiority. Because, of course, in this ongoing gay fantasy world, most men were “born yesterday” — reserved, innocent, and only ever trying anything for the first time!
But here’s the thing: biologically, the human anus is 100% stretchable. Its elasticity doesn’t reveal how many times someone has bottomed — or if they ever have. Some people are naturally tighter than others (meaning they have stronger pelvic floor muscles), and tightness can also be achieved through some targeted exercises.
Still, even gay men with naturally tight holes often put in some effort to get themselves relaxed before penetrative sex. Any sensible man would prioritise their comfort and pleasure over the need to clench their hole to pass some imaginary tightness test.
I’m personally not into the whole “tight hole” thing — whether real or theatrically squeezed to perfection. Trying to turn it into a bragging right is a huge turn-off. It screams ignorance and insecurity, not genuine sexiness.
Note: If you are having sex with someone and feel like you are being graded, you should stop (withdraw consent) and address how you are feeling. Our team are currently working on an article that recommends ways to deal with this situation.
Black Gay Men and the celebration of “tightness”
The misguided belief that tightness equals purity, restraint, or higher sexual value isn’t just biologically wrong, but also socially damaging.
Necessity may have driven the Black gay community to create its own language (expressions, aesthetics, and cultural codes) back in the day to foster inclusion. But instead of giving power to identity, these terms and cycles of trend now often decide who’s celebrated and who’s excluded.
The “tight hole” narrative fits perfectly into that pattern. Suddenly, men who claim to be “tight” are seen as more desirable, or less “used.” It’s a status marker — a way to appear in control, respectable, and “not like the others.”
But here’s the uncomfortable truth: this logic mirrors the same purity politics that have historically been used to shame women and queer men alike. It’s the virgin–whore dichotomy all over again, rebranded for the digital age.
The Black gay community’s obsession with “tight holes” turns intimacy into a performance, rooted in shame and harmful stereotypes. Biology and psychology tell a different story: relaxation, trust, and authentic connection should take precedence over tightness, struggling or any misguided show of resistance.
The Biology: What “Tightness” Really Means
Let’s get scientific for a moment, because biology doesn’t care about your Grindr bio.
The belief that frequent receptive anal sex (aka bottoming) permanently “loosens” the anus is a complete biological fallacy. The human anus is lined with circular muscles known as the internal and external anal sphincters. These are incredibly elastic. They are designed to stretch during bowel movements and penetration, and then return to their resting state immediately after.
In short, tightness isn’t a fixed trait. Tightness is a temporary physiological response shaped by emotion, context, and muscle tone, rather than sexual history.
It varies depending on factors like:
- Arousal and relaxation: Anxiety or tension can cause involuntary muscle contraction, making the area feel “tighter.” Relaxation allows the sphincter muscles to loosen, reducing friction and discomfort during entry, while also enhancing sensation and pleasure.
- Pelvic floor strength: Some people naturally have stronger muscles; others can train them through pelvic floor exercises (Kegels) — Do this not to impress, but to improve control and comfort.
- Lubrication and preparation: Adequate foreplay, mental relaxation, and lube/toy play can be used to get the hole ready for penetration.
Anal penetration is far less painful — and far more pleasurable — when the anal muscles are relaxed. Nothing about pain is worthy of celebration.
Contrary to popular myth, regular bottoming doesn’t “loosen” someone permanently. And a “relaxed hole” does not indicate regular bottoming. Studies published in journals such as Colorectal Disease and The American Journal of Gastroenterology show that the anus maintains its elasticity through recovery.
So no — tightness isn’t proof of someone’s “body count.” Someone who’s fully relaxed during intimacy isn’t “overused”. They are just at ease with their body and the moment. Equating tightness or relaxation with sexual history is a myth that fuels judgment and unnecessary hierarchy within the community.
The Psychology of Performance and Shame
At its core, the obsession with “tight holes” and performance of pain in the Black gay community is rooted in shame around being the receptive partner. Bottoming is perceived as emasculating, and this stigma drives men to perform tightness and resistance as a defence mechanism. By clenching or “struggling” during sex, some bottom-playing gay men attempt to reclaim control, signal restraint, or distance themselves from the vulnerability that society equates with passivity.
Meanwhile, some top-playing gays have now started to fetishise that struggle, interpreting discomfort as a marker of desirability or freshness. The result is a cycle where bodies become instruments of validation rather than pleasure, intimacy becomes performance, and authentic connection is sidelined. Rather than fostering trust and enjoyment, these dynamics reinforce shame, judgment, and tension — leaving both partners caught in a feedback loop of expectation and anxiety.
A bottom player who is relaxed, at ease, or simply not performing according to a rigid expectation is judged as “overused”, “less masculine” or undesirable. This has created a dangerous trend where pain and resistance are eroticized over true intimacy.
The Disturbing Fetish of Eroticizing Pain
Somewhere along the way, pain became proof — proof of purity, proof of value, proof of being “worth it.” Within certain corners of the Black gay community, there’s a growing fixation on men who claim to be “tight”, to the point of discomfort. For this subculture of role and hole politicians, struggling and showing resistance during sex adds excitement or status to the experience. For some top-playing gay men, hearing a partner gasping and screaming out in pain is interpreted as validation — a sign that they are dominant, desirable, or exceptionally endowed. But this twisted form of affirmation has less to do with pleasure and more to do with ego and power.
The eroticization of pain in gay sex, or the turning of discomfort (or show of it) into a source of heightened sensation and pleasure, would never sit well with me. This fetishisation of pain normalises sexual discomfort and silences honest communication, creating an environment where intimacy becomes less about mutual enjoyment and more about proving oneself or passing a ridiculous test.
Additionally, sexual gratification from a partner’s suffering carries both ethical and legal concerns. Even with consent, normalising pain could blur boundaries, increasing the chance of coercion, exploitation, or acts that could be criminal. Glorifying discomfort isn’t just harmful — it can be dangerous and, in some cases, illegal.
Don’t make yourself small to feed another man’s ego. When you feel the pressure to perform—to struggle, clench, or signal “purity”—you’re putting someone else’s toxic expectations above your own comfort and well-being.
Reclaiming Pleasure and Authenticity
Healthy sex isn’t about proving anything. It’s about comfort, communication, and connection.
Being relaxed, open, and present with your partner is not a sign of promiscuity — it’s a sign of emotional maturity. When both partners feel safe, aroused, and respected, pleasure increases for everyone. Studies in The Journal of Sexual Medicine emphasise that mutual comfort and trust predict satisfaction far more reliably than any physical “tightness” measure.
Using tightness as a flex reeks of ignorance and hypocrisy. The real flex is being self-aware, confident, and communicative about your needs and limits.
Moving forward: Let’s redefine value. Real Black men are confident in their true selves. We don’t need shallow hierarchies to prove our worth. And next time someone tries to boast about being “tight,” remind them to relax and get educated (or simply share this article with them). There’s nothing sweet about tension.
Final Word:
Let’s stop clenching for validation and start opening up — literally and figuratively — to healthier, more honest forms of intimacy.
By rejecting myths of tightness, pain, and dominance, Black gay men can reclaim sex as a joyful, liberating experience — defined not by what others expect, but by mutual respect, consent, and genuine pleasure.
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