Do Men Use Butt Plugs? An Honest Conversation for Curious Couples

I'll be straightforward: yes, I've tried one and similar toys. And I want to write about this honestly because the alternative — another vague, hedging article that dances around the subject without actually saying anything useful — doesn't serve anyone.

When Brittney and I started doing more intentional work on our intimate life, one of the things we agreed on early was that curiosity deserved a fair hearing. Not every curiosity becomes a regular practice. Not every experiment produces what you hoped. But the reflexive avoidance of anything unfamiliar, particularly anything that bumped up against the shame I'd carried since childhood about bodies and desire, was something I was actively trying to dismantle.

Anal play for men falls squarely into that category of things that a lot of men are curious about and almost none of them talk about — because the stigma attached to it is still doing significant work in male culture. This post is an attempt to have the conversation plainly.

A sleek and artistic display of metallic and transparent butt plugs against a soft blue background.

Why Men Don't Talk About This

The stigma around anal pleasure for men is remarkably specific and worth naming directly: in many cultural contexts, a man experiencing pleasure from anal stimulation is assumed to say something about his sexual orientation. This assumption is anatomically illiterate and culturally loaded — but it's real, and it keeps a lot of men from exploring something their own body is physiologically designed to respond to.

The prostate gland — sometimes called the male G-spot, though that framing sells short its actual significance — is a walnut-sized gland located a few inches inside the rectum toward the navel. It's richly innervated and, for many men, directly stimulating it produces intense pleasure that is qualitatively different from anything available through external stimulation alone. This is basic anatomy. It has nothing to do with sexual orientation and everything to do with how the male body is built.

The fact that many men never explore this part of their own body — not because they're uninterested but because the cultural freight around it is too heavy — is a straightforward consequence of shame doing what shame does: limiting access to your own experience.

What Butt Plugs Actually Are and Do

A butt plug is a toy designed to be inserted anally and worn in place — unlike a dildo, which is used for thrusting, a plug stays put and creates a sensation of fullness and pressure. They come in a range of sizes, from small beginner options to larger varieties for experienced users, and are typically made from body-safe materials like silicone, glass, or stainless steel. All anal toys should have a flared base — this is non-negotiable for safety, as the rectum can create suction that makes retrieval of a toy without a base genuinely dangerous.

For men, butt plugs serve a few distinct purposes. Worn during sex or masturbation, the pressure they create against the prostate can significantly intensify orgasm — many men describe it as adding a whole dimension of sensation that wasn't previously available. They can also be worn during the buildup to intimacy as a form of extended arousal, with the sensation building over time rather than arriving all at once. And for some men, the experience of fullness and pressure is simply pleasurable in its own right, independent of other stimulation.

How to Approach This as a Couple

Framing this as a shared conversation rather than one partner's private curiosity is both practically and relationally smart. Here's why: the stigma I described above means that many men who are curious about this haven't said so to their partner, and many partners haven't thought to offer or suggest it. The result is a kind of mutual silence around a form of pleasure that could genuinely add something to both people's experience.

The conversation is easier than most couples expect. If you're the partner raising it, the framing matters: this is about expanding what's available between you, not a requirement or a verdict on anything. If you're the man who's curious, naming the curiosity directly — without apologizing for it or over-explaining it — is the most effective approach. Something like: "I've been curious about trying anal stimulation. I'd like to explore it with you if you're open to it."

What helps the conversation land is being specific about what you're proposing. "I want to try a small beginner plug" is a clearer, less activating proposal than a vague reference to anal play. Specificity removes the imagination from running to scenarios that weren't what you had in mind.

If your partner is hesitant, that's valid and worth understanding rather than pushing past. The hesitation is usually about one of a few things: unfamiliarity, concern about hygiene, or uncertainty about what this means in terms of dynamics or orientation. All of these are addressable with honest conversation and patience. What doesn't work is proceeding with less than genuine enthusiasm from both people — the experience requires enough relaxation and trust that a reluctant or anxious partner makes the whole thing harder, not just relationally but literally.

Practical Guidance for Getting Started

Start small. The most common mistake beginners make is starting with something too large. A small, tapered beginner plug in body-safe silicone is the right starting point regardless of how curious or ready you feel. The body needs time to become familiar with anal sensation, and patience here produces much better outcomes than ambition.

Use more lube than you think you need. The rectum doesn't self-lubricate the way other parts of the body do. A generous amount of high-quality lubricant — silicone-based for glass or stainless steel toys, water-based for silicone toys — is not optional. This is the single most important practical note for anyone new to anal play.

Hygiene is simpler than the anxiety around it suggests. The rectum is higher up than where a plug typically sits, and basic hygiene — a shower beforehand, cleaning the toy thoroughly after — is sufficient for most people. If you want more peace of mind, an anal douche beforehand is a simple option. Don't let hygiene anxiety become a reason to avoid something you're genuinely curious about.

Go slowly and pay attention to your body. Discomfort is a signal to stop or adjust. Pain is a clear signal to stop. There should be no pain involved in anal play done correctly — if there is, something needs to change about the approach, the size, or the amount of lubrication. Genuine relaxation is required, which is why emotional safety and trust in the encounter matter as much as the physical technique.

Start solo if that feels more accessible. There's no requirement that this be introduced into partnered sex immediately. Exploring alone first — getting familiar with the sensation, finding what works for your body — can make the eventual shared experience easier and more relaxed for both partners.

What I Actually Found

My experience was that the curiosity was worth following. The sensation was genuinely different from anything else — a kind of whole-body intensity that added something I hadn't known was available. It also required more relaxation and presence than I expected, which meant that the somatic work I've been doing — the breathwork, the capacity to actually inhabit my body rather than monitor it from slightly outside — turned out to be directly relevant. You cannot access this kind of pleasure from a defended or anxious place. The body simply won't cooperate.

What it didn't do was change anything about who I am or what I want. That should go without saying, but given the stigma, it apparently needs saying: exploring your own anatomy doesn't redefine your identity. It just expands your experience.

The willingness to follow curiosity honestly — without the inherited shame deciding in advance what the answer should be — is one of the better practices available to anyone doing serious work on their intimate life. This is just one place where that practice applies.

Ready to go deeper?

If this resonates, there are two ways to take the next step with Coelle.

Download the Coelle app — Guided audio intimacy sessions designed for couples who are ready to stop performing and start arriving. Structured, intentional, and built from real experience. Download Coelle here.

Work with me directly — I offer one-on-one sex and intimacy coaching for individuals and couples, drawing on my background in sport psychology and years of personal somatic work. If you want a guide for this territory rather than just content about it, learn more about coaching here.