Top or bottom? Why gay men are often ashamed of being bottoms and lie about their preferred role in bed on Grindr

Within the queer community and beyond, sex is often surrounded by myths of endless, carefree pleasure. But the reality is far more complex and nuanced. Bottoming (being the receptive partner during anal sex) is still associated with a tremendous amount of shame and psychological distress. For many gay men, the experience is linked to diminished masculinity, loss of control, and internalized homophobia. While “tops” are spoken of with pride, being a “bottom” is often treated as a joke or even an insult.

Psychotherapist, trainer, and model Darren Dosy Smith (Darren Dosy Smith) examined the issue.

But we live in an age of sexual liberation. So where does all the shame around bottoming come from?

This shame is deeply rooted in heteronormativity and patriarchal beliefs that we unconsciously absorb from early childhood. For centuries, society has promoted a model in which the man is always the active, dominant “alpha male,” while the woman is passive, submissive, and receptive.

When a gay man takes on the bottom role, he faces the fear of appearing feminine, “weak,” or submissive. This creates a profound inner conflict: it may feel as though accepting this role means betraying your own masculinity. Psychotherapists call this internalized homophobia and misogyny—when society’s prejudices become your own harsh inner voice, accusing you of being “wrong.”

And how do race, culture, and laws affect this? Is shame the same for everyone?

No, shame accumulates in layers—a phenomenon researchers call intersectionality. This combination is unique to each person and depends on many different factors.

For example, if you grew up in a culture strongly shaped by religion or a colonial past (psychotherapist Darren Dosy Smith points to the legacy of British colonialism in former colonies such as countries in the Caribbean or Africa), homophobic laws leave an especially deep mark. Even after moving to the more liberal UK, a person continues to carry that fear and guilt because, in their home country, gay sex or anal sex may be punishable not only by imprisonment, but by death.

In addition, the community projects racial stereotypes onto people: Black men are often expected to be exclusively “alpha tops,” while Asian men are stereotyped as submissive bottoms. All of this creates enormous pressure and makes it difficult to understand what you truly want.

Is it true that historical memory also plays a role? What does the HIV epidemic have to do with it?

This is a crucial factor for older generations, but its echoes also reach younger people. Those who lived through the AIDS crisis carry profound collective trauma and grief for loved ones they lost. At the time, a devastating association became embedded in the public consciousness: “gay sex kills.”

And although we now live in the era of pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) and sex has become safer, this subconscious fear (“If I bottom, will I die?”) can still make it difficult to relax and cause anxiety in those who lived through that time. Moreover, young people who grew up in a more accepting environment often do not understand this trauma, which can lead to the stigmatization of the older generation.

Let’s talk about the practical side. Why does preparing for sex become such an ordeal?

“Hygiene anxiety” is a major and often overlooked problem for bottoms. Because anal sex physiologically involves an excretory organ, society has labeled it “dirty” and “taboo.” This creates a panicked fear of “not being perfectly clean.”

Darren Dozi Smith says that some of his clients eat nothing at all on days when they plan to bottom. They are willing to go hungry for hours to avoid embarrassment in front of their partner. But sex is a natural physiological process, and “accidents” sometimes happen. The shame and disgust a partner expresses when things get messy can cause deep psychological trauma and completely suppress your desire to have sex in the future.

Fun fact: the industry is trying to solve this problem through technology. For example, Polar Labs has developed a special barrier ball that is inserted before sex and eliminates the need to douche. The developers even tested it on a special “fuck machine” using artificial feces of varying consistency to prove its reliability.

How does this anxiety affect the body physically? Is bottoming always painful?

Anal sex shouldn't be painful, but anxiety can turn it into torture. Sex involves a deep mind-body connection. If your mind is consumed with thoughts about cleanliness, how the top is judging you, or whether your body is shaved smoothly or bleached, you simply won't be able to relax.

In response to psychological distress, the abdominal and pelvic floor muscles contract reflexively. Attempting to penetrate a tense body is painful and traumatic and can cause fissures and bleeding. This creates a vicious cycle: fear of pain causes tension -> tension causes pain -> pain reinforces the fear of sex. Ultimately, you feel “defective” and inadequate because “everyone else is having great sex, but I can't.”

But everything looks perfect on Instagram and dating apps! Is everyone really lying?

We are surrounded by a culture- and media-created myth that gay men have mind-blowing, life-changing sex 24/7 under any circumstances. Social media is packed with perfect “Adonises” (for example, from Atlantis cruises), creating an overwhelming sense of FOMO (fear of missing out). On top of that, the porn industry imposes unrealistic standards: enormous penises and hours of sex without pain or preparation.

In reality, people get tired at work, fall ill, and feel insecure about their appearance. For some, endless sex isn't pure pleasure but a way to numb psychological trauma, abuse, rejection, or loneliness.

“Whoever is on top is in charge.” Do tops really have all the power?

This is the biggest misconception imposed by the heteronormative hierarchy. Society assumes that the insertive partner (the “alpha top”) dominates and pulls all the strings. But psychologically, the opposite is true: it is the bottom (the submissive partner) who holds the real power in bed.

The top merely plays the role the bottom allows him to play. The bottom can say “stop” at any moment, take back his power, and halt the process. Moreover, it is usually the bottom who calls the shots: sex happens when he is physically and psychologically ready for it. Bottoming requires an enormous amount of trust, because you are letting another person inside your body—and that is a position of tremendous strength, not weakness.

But what if my role in bed conflicts with my job or lifestyle?

This is a classic example of toxic shame. Imagine this: you are an executive in finance, you lead important meetings, make tough decisions, and have to project authority. But in bed, your fantasy is to be a completely submissive bottom. Many people do not dare act on their desires because they fear their partner will see them as “weak” or that it will somehow affect their real-world status.

But psychotherapists remind us that being authentic does not mean you have to be the same in every area of your life. It is normal to wear different “masks” at work, with friends, and in the bedroom. The key is to find a safe space and a partner you trust so you can temporarily let go of control and enjoy being vulnerable. As one guest on John Dean’s podcast put it: “There is nothing more masculine than testosterone-fueled sex between two men.”

Apps demand quick answers: “What are you into?” But what if I don’t know or want different things?

The sexual culture of dating apps has conditioned us to see sex as transactional, with partners expected to instantly define their roles (“top” or “bottom”). But sexuality is fluid. You may go through different phases in life: at one point you like one thing, at another you prefer something else, and sometimes you may not want penetration at all.

The demand for rigid categories deprives us of the opportunity to explore ourselves. In a transactional environment, it is very difficult to show vulnerability and say, “Look, I’ve only tried bottoming a couple of times. It hurt, and I’m scared. Let’s try it slowly, with kissing and touching.” Such an admission takes courage, trust, and a partner who will not be selfish.

Do we even have to penetrate each other for it to count as “real sex”?

Absolutely not. We are used to defining sex very narrowly—as penetration and nothing else. But sex is much broader than that. Kissing, mutual masturbation, oral sex, cuddling on the couch—all of these are valid forms of sex that can bring incredible pleasure and emotional fulfillment.

If you are not in the mood or do not have the energy to bottom today, that does not mean sex is off the table or that you have “failed.” And if you do not want anything inside your anus at all, that is perfectly normal too. Your boundaries and comfort are always more important than other people’s expectations.

What should you do if you're left with a strange sense of guilt after sex?

This is common, especially with transactional, quick sex. When one partner gets dressed immediately after orgasm and leaves to go about their business, the receiving partner may be left with an oppressive sense of emptiness and guilt.

Physiologically, bottoming is a deeply invasive process that can leave physical sensations in the body for several hours or even days. If the sex involved psychological tension, this feeling of “intrusion” can turn into shame.

In such cases, aftercare is critically important. This can mean cuddling with your partner, relaxing together, or—if you're alone—taking a warm bath, reading a book, listening to music, and caring for yourself. This helps stabilize your hormone levels and restore a sense of safety.

How can you overcome a mental block and rediscover pleasure?

Psychotherapist Darren Dozy Smith suggests several specific techniques:

1. Recognize and accept your thoughts. Your shame and anxiety didn't come out of nowhere—they were imposed on you by society. Allow these thoughts to be present, but remember that they don't reflect reality or define your worth.
2. Explore yourself on your own (Body mapping). Before having sex with a partner, explore your body in a safe, pressure-free setting. Use your fingers, a dildo, and a high-quality lubricant. Learn which sensations feel good to you and which don't.
3. Learn to relax. Use psychosexual breathing techniques. Don't try to endure the pain. If something doesn't feel right, don't blame yourself—take a break.
4. Choose safety and trust. Try exploring new roles with people you trust. Discuss agreements and boundaries in advance.
5. Don't be afraid to ask for help. If you've had a traumatic experience, don't hesitate to seek help from an LGBTQ+-friendly therapist or use resources from specialist organizations (such as LGBT Hero).

This article was prepared using materials from Oakpath Therapy (oakpath.co.uk).