Boys & Sex

Why do so many young men struggle to connect emotionally—even when they want to? In Boys & Sex, Peggy Orenstein argues that contemporary masculinity is built on contradictions: you are told to be open-minded but not vulnerable, sexually active but never uncertain, dominant yet morally decent. Across dozens of interviews with boys ages 14 to 22, she shows how cultural scripts—from locker rooms to porn websites—teach emotional suppression, sexual entitlement, and fear of empathy. The result is not natural male behavior but a learned performance that harms everyone involved.

The Core Claim: The “Boy Code” and Emotional Masking

At the center of the book is what psychologist William Pollack calls the “boy code”: an informal rulebook that demands stoicism and dominance. Boys learn early that to cry, confide, or hesitate is to lose status. Cole, an 18-year-old crew captain, calls it keeping feelings “behind a wall”; Rob says he never cries because “that’s not what men do.” These stories illustrate how shame polices vulnerability. The code teaches boys to equate emotional restraint with strength, producing isolation disguised as courage.

This emotional training starts at home and is reinforced by peers and media. Fathers say “man up”; teammates mock tenderness with slurs like “pussy” or “fag.” Media adds glossy reinforcement—athletic dominance, sexual conquest, heroic detachment—leaving boys little room to imagine alternatives. (Note: Scholars like bell hooks have similarly described this as patriarchy’s emotional poverty.)

Sexual Education by Screens, Not Adults

When sex education fails, boys turn to porn—the ubiquitous teacher of modern sexuality. Orenstein documents how adolescents now have unlimited access to explicit material, usually before a single kiss. Porn defines not only arousal but also gender roles: women are passive, men are relentless, consent is skipped. Mason’s journey—from curious searches to disgust at extreme content—illustrates how desire gets warped into a script of domination. (Media scholar Paul Wright’s research confirms early porn exposure correlates with later sexual callousness.)

Boys convince themselves they can separate fantasy from reality, but repetition blurs that line. Many feel performance anxiety in real sex because porn sets impossible benchmarks—timing, physique, aggression. Daniel admits he can’t climax without roughness that mimics his porn habits. Orenstein contrasts this with boys who stop or diversify their viewing; they report more satisfaction and compassion, proving that awareness can rewrite arousal patterns.

Hookup Culture and Moral Ambiguity

On campus, casual sex becomes a social economy where experience equals prestige. Liam counts his 51 hookups like trophies; Nate pursues status through risky encounters. Yet beneath bravado, most describe emptiness. Alcohol blurs consent, creates gray areas, and lets participants claim denial afterward. Surveys reveal striking gender gaps: women climax far less often in hookups than men, showing that male-centered pleasure dominates.

This environment rewards detachment and penalizes care. Even self-proclaimed “good guys” misread cues—assuming smiles or silence mean yes—and then rationalize coercive behavior. Nicole Bedera’s studies confirm most college men endorse consent verbally but rarely practice it. Orenstein’s “good guy paradox” exposes how moral self-image allows misconduct to continue unchecked. (Think of public controversies like Aziz Ansari or Brock Turner where reputations shield reflection.)

Power, Race, and Sexual Hierarchies

Masculinity, Orenstein emphasizes, is not race-neutral. Boys of color face double binds: hypervisibility and invisibility. Xavier, Emmett, and Spencer describe being admired for stereotypes yet surveilled or excluded by institutions. Black men are fetishized and feared; Asian men are desexualized and mocked. These biases infuse dating and discipline alike—Xavier notices that no white classmates were expelled for sex-related conduct, yet Black peers were. (Sociologist Y. Joel Wong calls this “gendered racism.”)

Queer and trans boys navigate further complications: safety fears, disclosure dilemmas, and fragmented education. Devon’s relief after transitioning—facing less street harassment—coexists with anxiety about disclosure during sex. Zane and Elliot’s stories on apps like Grindr reveal early sexualization mixed with vulnerability. Yet Orenstein observes that queer communities often model clearer consent practices (“What are you into?”) that heterosexual culture could adopt.

Breakdown and Possibility

As the book progresses, Orenstein expands the frame to include boys as victims, educators, and reformers. Dylan and Leo—male survivors of sexual assault—show how rigid masculinity silences pain. When Dylan confides that a female friend assaulted him, peers joke that he “got lucky.” Naming such harm demands cultural permission. Sameer’s case, where restorative justice turns a perpetrator into an advocate, illustrates how guided accountability enables transformation rather than denial.

Ultimately, Boys & Sex argues for a reimagined masculinity: one rooted in emotional honesty, mutual pleasure, racial awareness, and consent as collaboration. Programs like Green Dot and Coaching Boys into Men, or lessons borrowed from Dutch comprehensive sex education, show what works. Wyatt summarizes it best when he says consent is “really hot.” Change, Orenstein concludes, comes through repeated practice: ask, listen, stop when asked, and make empathy part of desire.

Key insight

Masculinity is not fixed; it’s learned, enforced, and thus changeable. The future of sexual ethics and emotional wellbeing depends on boys unlearning the scripts that tell them dominance equals manhood.

If you want to become part of that change, begin by examining your own mask—the beliefs about male strength you absorbed—and choosing communication over competition, empathy over silence.

Orenstein shows that emotional repression is the first lesson of manhood. From playground to campus, boys learn that power matters more than feeling. The phrase “man up” summarizes a social system that equates vulnerability with failure. Cole’s father’s advice—“keep it behind a wall”—captures how generations reproduce stoicism as virtue. This code doesn’t just shape behavior; it shapes identity.

Where You Learn It

You hear it first at home, then from peers, and later from media. Parents praise toughness while discouraging sadness. Peers enforce conformity through ridicule; “fag” becomes shorthand for too much emotion. Media glorifies hypermasculine heroes who kill effortlessly and never cry. Together, these create a closed emotional economy where empathy threatens belonging.

That pressure is self-sustaining. Boys not only hide emotion but also punish it in others—maintaining the mask through mutual policing. (In sociologist C.J. Pascoe’s work, this is the “fag discourse,” the behavioral fence around acceptable masculinity.)

The Social and Psychological Cost

You pay dearly for silence. Suppressed emotion predicts risk-taking, aggression, and depression. Rob’s refusal to cry after heartbreak becomes unacknowledged grief. Those internalized rules also spill outward: boys who most embrace traditional norms report higher rates of harassment, binge drinking, and sexual coercion. Without emotional fluency, vulnerability turns into dominance.

Key insight

The boy code is cyclical—each generation mistakes emotional numbness for masculine maturity. Breaking the pattern begins when you name the cost of silence.

Breaking the Pattern

Naming is radical. When Orenstein’s subjects find language for pain—loneliness, confusion, remorse—they shift from victims of the code to challengers of it. Even listening quietly, she writes, gives boys permission to feel. Programs that teach boys to articulate emotion—on sports teams or in classrooms—prove that vulnerability isn’t weakness but social intelligence. (Note: Pollack and bell hooks similarly call this emotional literacy the foundation of true strength.)

If you want to start, replace “man up” with “talk it out.” Give boys phrases for fear, grief, love, and shame. They already possess those feelings; they need words to make them visible.

For most boys today, the first teacher of sex is a smartphone. Orenstein builds a portrait of how porn reshapes the sexual imagination—rewriting desire as performance. Mason’s path from accidental viewing to disgust illustrates how early exposure normalizes domination. Instead of learning about mutual pleasure or consent, boys learn choreography: fast, rough, silent cords tied to visual validation.

The Psychology of Habit

Psychological studies confirm that repeated exposure to sexual scripts impacts belief systems. Paul Wright’s research connects early viewing with acceptance of rape myths and diminished empathy. Porn packages sexism as entertainment, using women’s submission as proof of passion. Boys internalize the idea that pleasure is something taken, not shared. (Emily Nagoski’s concept of “non-concordance” helps explain why physical arousal doesn’t always equal emotional desire.)

The Performance Trap

Porn also drives performance anxiety: the pressure to meet fictional standards—endurance, size, dominance. Daniel’s inability to climax without roughness shows how conditioning rules over spontaneity. Each video trains the body in anticipation rather than connection. Many boys mistake physical response for affection, erasing empathy from sexual interaction.

Reclaiming Imagination and Intimacy

Orenstein doesn’t condemn all erotic media. The harm arises from repetition of degrading tropes. She encourages you to ask what your media primes you to desire and whether it aligns with respect. Alternatives include erotica centered on mutual pleasure and critical discussion with partners or mentors. Boys who consciously reduce porn report healthier relationships and less anxiety.

Key insight

Porn teaches a story of sex without empathy. You change that script not by abstinence but by awareness—asking whether your fantasies include care.

Cultural change begins with curiosity: How did you learn what turns you on? What images built those expectations? Reflecting on those questions is the first step toward sexual ethics grounded in connection rather than domination.

Campus hookup culture promises liberation but often delivers confusion. Orenstein unpacks a scene where alcohol, ambiguity, and peer currency blur the boundaries of choice. “Free sex” becomes social obligation—something you do for reputation, not pleasure. Nate’s drunken debut and Liam’s bragging illustrate how masculinity converts intimacy into competition.

The Mechanics of Miscommunication

Most hookups operate in silence. Few discuss intentions; many assume consent from body language. Nicole Bedera finds that only 13% of college men have verbal discussions about sex. Alcohol both enables participation and erases clarity. This climate makes ethical sex nearly impossible since pleasure and safety depend on communication that parties avoid.

The Good Guy Paradox

Orenstein’s “good guy paradox” captures the moral limbo: men who think of themselves as decent still cross boundaries. Liam wonders if he “took advantage” of a silent partner; others insist they meant no harm. The refusal to see oneself as potentially coercive keeps change at bay. “No one ever thinks they’re a rapist,” one researcher observes—defensiveness becomes denial.

Moving Toward Clarity

Orenstein promotes explicit consent as mutual communication—asking questions, pausing to check, making participation collaborative. Boys like Wyatt prove the appeal: he calls consent “really hot” and teaches peers to integrate kindness into desire. Alcohol moderation, aftercare conversations, and the simple act of asking “Do you want this?” transform pressure into partnership.

Key insight

Freedom in sexual culture requires shared responsibility. When communication replaces assumption, pleasure deepens and harm declines.

Learning to speak openly doesn’t ruin spontaneity—it sustains it. Orenstein argues that genuine sexual liberation begins with the courage to clarify intentions, even if it feels awkward.

Masculinity looks different through the lens of race and sexuality, but the stereotypes often serve the same purpose—to preserve white, heteronormative dominance. Orenstein reveals how boys of color and queer or trans boys navigate distinctive risks: fetishization, erasure, and the demand to conform to a cultural ideal that excludes them.

Racial Double Binds

Black boys like Xavier feel hypervisible when admired for athleticism but invisible in academic halls. Asian boys like Spencer battle desexualization rooted in historic propaganda. Fraternities and college institutions perpetuate these hierarchies—some even engage in racist screening practices. (Matthew Hughey calls this “a rotten orchard,” not a few bad apples.) Such climates make emotional safety and belonging harder for men of color.

Queer and Trans Pathways

Queer boys experience early acceptance mixed with lingering danger. Apps like Grindr offer visibility but heighten risk. Zane’s assault-like encounter and Elliot’s secrecy test the thin boundary between exploration and exploitation. Trans boys like Devon manage constant navigation—gratitude for recognition coupled with disclosure fears. Their experiences highlight how sexual education must include safety and affirmation, not just biology.

Models for Inclusion

Orenstein urges readers to learn from queer consent practices: asking “What are you into?” before any act. These habits model mutual respect and clarity. Educators and peers can adapt such communication across orientations. Schools must also address institutional racism head-on through inclusive curricula and supportive spaces, ensuring masculinity isn't defined only by whiteness and aggression.

Key insight

Masculinity is intersectional. Race, sexuality, and gender identity shape who feels safe expressing vulnerability and who is punished for it.

If you want equity in sexual culture, you must challenge the racial and sexual hierarchies that sit underneath sexual scripts. That means seeing power differentials as fundamental, not peripheral, to gender reform.

What happens after harm? Orenstein argues that accountability—done with empathy and realism—can transform both victim and perpetrator. She presents restorative justice (RJ) as one method that centers survivors, demands acknowledgment, and rebuilds trust. Sameer’s case, where confession and dialogue replace denial, becomes a model for repair within flawed campus systems.

Restorative Justice in Action

Facilitated meetings between victim and offender allow personal impact statements and negotiated remedies—education, service, and public accountability. In Sameer’s meeting, when Anwen asks him to “name it” and he says “rape,” she replies “I forgive you.” That moment symbolizes moral reckoning: naming truth enables empathy to begin. David Karp’s campus research corroborates that RJ increases responsibility and closure.

Education as Prevention

RJ isn’t about absolution—it’s a learning process. Sameer later becomes an advocate, urging fraternity recruits to take Green Dot training. Parental and school engagement reinforce this forward movement. Orenstein also cites Dutch sex education as a national prevention model: consistent, pleasure-positive conversations from childhood yield better sexual ethics. (In comparison, U.S. curricula often center fear and abstinence.)

Cultural Repair Beyond Punishment

Punishment alone creates fear but seldom understanding. Repair culture extends the conversation—teaching emotional literacy, bystander courage, and digital ethics. Parents and coaches must talk not only about consent but care. Repetition builds fluency; discomfort fades with practice. An aware generation learns that accountability isn’t weakness—it’s maturity.

Key insight

Repair, not fear, moves culture forward. When offenders learn empathy and victims direct their own healing, communities evolve beyond punishment toward prevention.

Orenstein’s conclusion is pragmatic and hopeful: society can’t change through doctrine alone. It changes through practice—repetition of honest communication, empathy, and mutual repair until they become the new norm.

In closing, Orenstein asks what a better masculinity might look like—not the destruction of manhood but its evolution. She focuses on young men like Wyatt, Mason, and Nate who experiment with emotional honesty and consent, modeling gentleness as courage. “Being a good man,” Wyatt says, “starts with listening.” The strength to feel becomes the foundation for ethical sex and friendship.

Practical Acts of Change

• Speak emotions directly: replace teasing with truth, ask friends what they’re feeling.
• Practice verbal consent: ask “What do you want?” instead of guessing.
• Challenge demeaning humor: intervene when cruelty is disguised as jokes.
• Question media: note which stories glorify domination and which honor tenderness.

These aren’t slogans; they’re habits. They spread through imitation—boys imitating decency as once they imitated bravado. Coaches, parents, and teachers can reinforce this by praising emotional literacy rather than toughness. Each conversation seeds new norms.

Redefining Strength

Wyatt’s evolution from a “feminist fuckboy” to an empathetic partner proves transformation is accessible. Masculinity that celebrates empathy, accountability, and pleasure equality doesn’t erase male identity—it enriches it. Vulnerability becomes its own status symbol. (bell hooks and Michael Kimmel similarly argue that masculinity redefined around care strengthens communities.)

Key insight

Masculinity can evolve through daily practice—small, repeatable acts of consent, empathy, and courage. You change culture one conversation at a time.

Orenstein’s book ends with optimism: boys do have language for kindness; they just need permission to use it. When empathy becomes contagious, the cultural mask of manhood begins to lift.