There is a wonderfully evocative expression for someone who enjoys receiving sexual pleasure while showing little enthusiasm for reciprocating. She is called a pillow princess. The phrase conjures up an image of someone reclining on luxurious cushions, entirely comfortable with being the centre of attention while somebody else does all the work.
But if there are pillow princesses, where are all the pillow princes? Because surely we have all encountered men who are perfectly happy to receive sexual attention without showing much curiosity about their partner’s pleasure.
The interesting question is not whether these men exist. It is why female sexual passivity has a memorable label while the male equivalent has not received the same scrutiny.
What does Pillow Princess actually mean?
The term pillow princess originated in lesbian and queer communities, where it traditionally describes a woman who prefers to receive sexual pleasure rather than give it. Importantly, within that context, being a pillow princess is not necessarily an insult or a criticism.
For some people, it is simply an expression of sexual preference or identity. A pillow princess may have a partner who actively enjoys taking the giving role, sometimes described as a stone top. When both partners understand and enthusiastically agree to the arrangement, there is no inherent problem.
This distinction matters because the term has increasingly migrated into heterosexual dating conversations, where it is sometimes used differently. Here, pillow princess can become shorthand for a woman who supposedly expects her male partner to make all the effort sexually while contributing very little herself.
The expression has also appeared in online discussions about dating expectations, sexual entitlement and the perceived imbalance between what men and women want from intimate relationships.
Yet the phrase’s journey reveals something. A term that originally described a legitimate sexual dynamic within queer relationships has been repurposed in some heterosexual conversations as a criticism of women’s sexual behaviour.
Meanwhile, what do we call the heterosexual man who expects to be pleasured, regards his orgasm as the natural conclusion of sex and shows remarkably little interest in whether his partner has enjoyed herself?
Apparently, we have been rather less imaginative about naming him—and that absence is the point.
Is there a male equivalent of a Pillow Princess?
Yes. The term pillow prince exists, although it has nowhere near the same cultural recognition as pillow princess. Pillow king is another variation, while pillow princess itself can sometimes be used regardless of gender.
The relative obscurity of pillow prince matters because it shows how unevenly we name sexual passivity.
Consider how many women recognise the experience of a male partner who regards foreplay as something to be hurried through, who assumes penetration is the main event and whose interest in sex noticeably diminishes once he has reached orgasm.
These experiences are familiar enough to feature regularly in conversations about heterosexual relationships, yet we have not developed a universally recognised, equally playful label for the men involved.
Instead, women may describe such partners as selfish lovers, sexually lazy or simply bad in bed.
Those descriptions focus on the man’s behaviour rather than assigning him a recognisable sexual identity. Perhaps it is time the pillow prince received his coronation.
Why do we judge sexual passivity differently in men and women?
Generations of assumptions about masculinity and femininity have shaped our expectations about sexual behaviour. Traditionally, men were expected to initiate sex, pursue women and demonstrate sexual confidence. Women were encouraged to be receptive, desirable and sufficiently restrained not to appear sexually demanding.
Traditionally, men were expected to initiate sex, pursue women and demonstrate sexual confidence. Women were encouraged to be receptive, desirable and sufficiently restrained not to appear sexually demanding.
This created a peculiar contradiction.
Women were expected to be sexually available but not too sexually assertive. Men were expected to be sexually active but were not necessarily taught that being a considerate lover involved curiosity, communication and attention to another person’s experience.
The consequences of these expectations can continue long after people have consciously rejected the attitudes that produced them.
A woman who enjoys receiving pleasure may be accused of being passive or demanding. A man who focuses primarily on his own pleasure may simply be reproducing a sexual script in which his orgasm has always been treated as the principal objective. Neither assumption is particularly helpful.
The important issue is not whether someone prefers giving or receiving sexual pleasure. It is whether the people involved feel respected, considered and able to express what they actually want.
What does the orgasm gap tell us about sexual reciprocity?
Research into sexual satisfaction has repeatedly identified what is commonly called the orgasm gap, particularly in heterosexual encounters.
A frequently cited American study published in Archives of Sexual Behaviour in 2018 examined orgasm frequency among more than 52,000 adults. It found that 95 per cent of heterosexual men reported usually or always orgasming when sexually intimate, compared with 65 per cent of heterosexual women.
The same study found that 86 per cent of lesbian women reported usually or always orgasming.
These figures do not tell us that heterosexual men are inherently selfish or that heterosexual women are naturally less responsive. They do suggest that the sexual experiences of men and women are not always being approached with the same attention to what produces pleasure.
There are several possible explanations, including inadequate knowledge of female anatomy, insufficient clitoral stimulation, limited sexual communication and the persistence of assumptions that penetration alone should be enough.
There is also the tendency to regard male orgasm as the point at which sex is finished.
For some heterosexual couples, this has become such an established pattern that neither partner particularly questions it.
The man finishes; therefore sex finishes.
But whose definition of completion are we using?
This is where the pillow prince becomes more than an amusing expression. He raises a wider question: whose pleasure is treated as essential, and whose is treated as optional.
Is being a Pillow Princess or Pillow Prince always selfish?
Absolutely not.
There is a significant difference between a mutually agreed sexual preference and a pattern of disregarding another person’s needs.
Some people genuinely prefer receiving sexual attention. Others derive enormous satisfaction from giving it. Many couples enjoy arrangements that do not involve equal participation in every sexual activity.
There is no requirement for sex to operate like a financial transaction, with every act meticulously matched by an equivalent contribution.
Reciprocity is not the same as keeping score
A partner who enjoys giving pleasure may be entirely content with an arrangement that appears unequal to somebody observing it from the outside.
Equally, nobody owes their partner a particular sexual act simply because they have received one.
The difficulty arises when one person’s preferences consistently take precedence, and the other person’s needs, feelings or desires become invisible.
A woman who prefers receiving pleasure is not automatically entitled. A man who prefers receiving pleasure is not automatically selfish.
But someone who assumes their partner’s satisfaction is unimportant may be revealing something about the wider relationship.
When sexual passivity becomes emotional passivity
As a therapist, I am particularly interested in what happens when patterns of behaviour in intimate relationships extend beyond the bedroom.
Sometimes a lack of sexual reciprocity reflects a broader imbalance in emotional attention.
One partner may habitually take responsibility for initiating difficult conversations, repairing disagreements, organising shared activities and anticipating the other person’s needs.
The same person may also find themselves doing most of the emotional work involved in maintaining sexual intimacy.
They notice when something feels uncomfortable. They raise the subject of dissatisfaction. They try to find ways to improve the experience for both people.
Meanwhile, the other partner may be perfectly content with the existing arrangement because it works rather well for them.
This does not necessarily indicate deliberate exploitation. People can become remarkably accustomed to arrangements that benefit them, particularly when those arrangements have never been openly challenged.
However, repeated patterns of one person giving and another receiving can gradually create resentment.
The partner who feels overlooked may begin to interpret sexual disinterest as evidence that their needs do not matter.
Over time, this can affect emotional closeness, sexual desire and the sense of safety within the relationship.
The problem is no longer simply about what happens during sex. It becomes about whether both people feel equally important.
Why might someone become sexually passive?
Before deciding that a partner is selfish, it is worth considering the many reasons someone might appear reluctant to participate actively in sex.
Sexual passivity can arise from anxiety, embarrassment, body image concerns, past experiences, physical discomfort, low desire, uncertainty about what a partner enjoys or difficulty communicating personal preferences.
Some people have learned that expressing sexual desire invites judgement. Others have experienced situations in which their boundaries were ignored, making receiving or initiating certain kinds of intimacy feel complicated.
For some men, performance anxiety can be particularly significant. The expectation that men should always know what they are doing, maintain an erection and deliver an impressive sexual performance can make genuine intimacy feel more like an examination than a shared experience.
For women, years of being encouraged to prioritise attractiveness over their own pleasure may make it difficult to identify, let alone communicate, what they enjoy.
There are also people whose sexual preferences are entirely comfortable and consensual, but differ from conventional expectations.
These distinctions are important because sexual behaviour cannot always be understood by looking at what somebody does or does not do. The emotional meaning behind the behaviour matters.
What happens when partners stop talking about sex?
One of the more persistent myths about successful sexual relationships is that compatible partners should instinctively know what each other wants.
In reality, sexual preferences are individual, can change over time and are not always easy to communicate.
People may avoid discussing dissatisfaction because they fear embarrassing their partner, provoking defensiveness or discovering that their needs are incompatible. Instead, they accommodate.
A woman may repeatedly accept sexual encounters that leave her unsatisfied because she does not want her partner to feel criticised.
A man may avoid asking for something he enjoys because he worries that expressing a preference will make him appear inadequate or unusual.
Eventually, what began as an attempt to protect the relationship can create considerable emotional distance.
The difficulty is compounded when one partner interprets a conversation about sexual satisfaction as a personal attack.
Yet being curious about another person’s experience is not an admission of failure. It is one of the foundations of a mutually satisfying intimate relationship.
Asking what someone enjoys, what they would like more of and whether anything feels uncomfortable should not require extraordinary courage. Unfortunately, for some couples, it does.
Are dating apps changing our expectations of sexual reciprocity?
Modern dating culture has created additional opportunities for people to express their sexual preferences. Still, it has also introduced new ways of reducing potential partners to a collection of desirable attributes. Dating profiles can become shopping lists.
People specify the appearance, age, lifestyle, financial circumstances and sexual characteristics they want in a partner, sometimes with remarkably little indication of what they themselves might contribute to a relationship.
The language of deserving, standards and knowing your worth can be useful when it encourages people to recognise their needs and maintain healthy boundaries.
But it becomes less constructive when it encourages an expectation that a partner should satisfy an extensive list of requirements without equivalent consideration flowing in the opposite direction. This applies to men and women.
A man who expects a woman to be sexually adventurous, attractive and constantly available while making little effort to understand her desires is demonstrating a particular form of entitlement.
A woman who expects her partner to anticipate and fulfil every sexual need while dismissing his preferences may be doing something similar. Neither situation is resolved by attaching a gendered insult to the person involved.
The more useful question is whether each person approaches intimacy as a shared experience or as a service they expect someone else to provide.
What does a healthy sexual relationship look like?
Healthy sexual relationships do not require identical levels of desire, perfectly matched preferences or equal participation in every activity.
They require enough trust for both people to express themselves without feeling pressured, shamed or dismissed.
There needs to be room for different preferences, changing needs and occasions when one person is more interested in sex than the other.
Consent remains essential, and nobody should feel obliged to provide sexual pleasure in exchange for receiving it.
What matters is that neither person’s experience is routinely treated as less important.
This also means recognising that sexual satisfaction cannot be measured solely by orgasm. Pleasure, affection, closeness, playfulness and feeling wanted may be equally significant, depending on the people involved.
Some couples are perfectly happy with sexual arrangements that others might consider unconventional. The distinction is whether the arrangement has been chosen rather than endured.
So where are all the Pillow Princes?
They are undoubtedly out there, reclining comfortably alongside their female counterparts.
But the more interesting issue is why we are so quick to label certain sexual behaviours in women while treating similar behaviours in men as unremarkable.
The expression pillow princess has a legitimate history within queer sexual culture, where it can describe a consensual preference without implying selfishness. That meaning deserves to be respected.
Its adoption as a criticism of heterosexual women tells us something different about the way sexual expectations continue to be gendered.
If we are going to criticise people for expecting pleasure without consideration for their partners, then the same standards should apply regardless of gender.
And perhaps the real question is not whether somebody deserves to be called a pillow princess or a pillow prince.
It is whether both people in a relationship feel that their pleasure, preferences and emotional needs matter.
Because when intimacy becomes something one person provides, and the other consumes, the problem is rarely confined to the bedroom. And no amount of luxuriously decorative pillows will make that imbalance comfortable forever.
Research reference: Frederick, D. A., John, H. K., Garcia, J. R. and Lloyd, E. A. (2018). Differences in Orgasm Frequency Among Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Heterosexual Men and Women in a U.S. National Sample. Archives of Sexual Behaviour, 47, 273–288.
