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Can't Get Hard With a Partner? Here's What's Happening \ GGOMed
Can't Get Hard With a Partner? Here's What's Actually Happening
Partner-specific erection difficulties are one of the most common presentations I see — and one of the least talked about. This page explains what is actually happening, why it happens more with someone who matters, and what both of you can do about it.
Mark and Andrea have been seeing each other for a few months. Things are going well — better than well. Tonight, at Mark's flat, things are supposed to go further.
They don't.
After the build-up, Mark can't maintain a firm enough erection. He apologises. He says this has never happened before. He tries to salvage things. Andrea says: "Don't worry, these things happen." A brief kiss. Then a minute of quiet, both sitting on opposite sides of the bed, staring at the floor.
Here is what Mark is thinking: some version of I've ruined this, What's wrong with me, This is humiliating, It'll be the same next time, Andrea will leave me.
Here is what Andrea might be thinking — and this is where it gets complicated. Because Andrea's thoughts aren't one thing. They might be it's my fault, I'm not attractive enough, he doesn't want me. Or they might be he needs to sort himself out, this is his problem. Or, depending on Andrea's own history, he must be seeing someone else. Somewhere in between, in the vast middle ground, are dozens of combinations of doubt, insecurity, and meaning-making that have nothing to do with what actually happened.
What actually happened is quite simple. The penis had been made the instrument of proof — the engine through which desire, attraction, and feeling were supposed to be demonstrated. That is not what it is built for.
Sex is not a performance. It is an interaction — and at its most essential, a form of communication between two people. The moment it becomes a test with criteria to meet, it stops being either of those things. What remains is an audience of one, a set of expectations, and a body that was never designed to perform on command.
An erection is a physiological event. It requires a specific state of the nervous system to occur — one that is fundamentally incompatible with being evaluated. Not because you're weak, or broken, or because something is permanently wrong. Because your body is working exactly as it was designed to: it will not perform, but it will communicate, when the conditions allow it to.
Why it works alone but fails with someone you care about
When you're by yourself, the stakes are usually lower. For most persons, the body isn't being evaluated — there is no audience, no possibility of disappointing anyone. The nervous system stays in a parasympathetic state — calm, open, receptive — and blood flows into the penis the way it's supposed to.
Medical Evidence
American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5). Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Publishing; 2013.
Source:PSYCHIATRY.ORG
PIF TICK accredited information
The Patient Information Forum is the UK membership organisation and network for people working in health information and support. The PIF TICK is the UK-wide Quality Mark for Health Information.
Author Mr Giangiacomo Ollandini Published 23 April 2026Last update 23 April 2026Next review 23 April 2028Version v1.0
This content has been produced for educational purposes and reflects current evidence-based practice. Although GGO Med Ltd is a private urology service, all patient information is compiled with the aim of being accurate, evidence-based, and free from commercial bias. If you feel this content does not meet that standard, we would welcome your feedback — please contact us here.
The moment another person is present — particularly someone who matters to you — the nervous system starts scanning for threat. Not because that person is a threat, but because your body is registering something important: the possibility of failure, and what failure here would mean.
This is the physiology I describe in The Jaguar in the Jungle — the sympathetic override. Adrenaline floods the system. Blood vessels constrict. The very mechanism required for an erection is switched off at the source.
Here is the part that most explanations miss: the more you care about someone, the harder this can be.
This is counterintuitive, but it's clinically consistent. With a partner you're not particularly invested in, the stakes are low. A failed erection is disappointing, but not catastrophic. With someone you genuinely want to impress — or someone you're falling in love with — every encounter feels like an audition. The nervous system responds to how much the moment matters, not to the size of your attraction. The result is that you can be most reliable with partners who matter least to you, and least reliable with the one you most want to be with.
That's not a character flaw. It's a predictable neurobiological response to emotional investment.
The loop that keeps it going
One episode of erectile difficulty rarely stays as one episode. It plants something.
The pattern
How the loop builds
The first time
You file it away — alcohol, stress, nerves, a one-off. But a small part of your brain registers it as a potential pattern.
The next time
You remember. You start monitoring. The act of checking is itself a threat signal — your body reads the vigilance as danger and responds accordingly.
The avoidance
You find reasons not to initiate. The avoiding feels like protection, but every avoided encounter is a missed opportunity to build a different association. The jungle feels bigger the longer you stay out of it.
The good news is that a loop created by anxiety can be interrupted. Understanding why it's happening is usually the first step.
A note for partners
If you're reading this as a partner, the first thing worth knowing is that the instinctive reaction — whatever it is — is rarely the most useful one. This isn't a criticism. It's a reflection of how disorienting this moment is for everyone in the room.
The reactions that tend to surface — self-blame, frustration, reassurance — sit at opposite ends of a spectrum, and most people land somewhere between them. Reassurance in particular — "don't worry, it doesn't matter" — is usually well-meant, but it often closes the conversation rather than opens it. What sounds like comfort can land as let's not talk about this. And for the person on the other side of the bed, silence rarely feels neutral.
I don't have a formula for the right response, because there isn't one. What I do observe, in the couples I see, is that the ones who navigate this most effectively tend to approach it with a degree of curiosity rather than conclusion — staying open to what the other person is actually experiencing, and finding ways to communicate what each of them needs, including in other contexts, without the pressure of that specific moment attached to it.
Partners are always welcome in my clinic. I see couples regularly, and often the most clarifying part of an early appointment is simply understanding how each person has been experiencing the same situation. If your partner is considering a consultation, coming together is worth discussing.
Patterns I see in clinic
Partner-specific erectile difficulties are not one thing. Over the years I've identified a number of distinct patterns, each with different drivers and different pathways through.
There is a specific kind of pressure that builds in couples trying to conceive. The fertility app, the ovulation window, the careful timing — all of it transforms sex from something spontaneous into a task with a deadline and a measurable outcome.
I see this pattern regularly. A man who has no difficulties in most contexts finds himself unreliable on exactly the nights that matter most. The erection is fine on a Tuesday when nothing is at stake. On the Friday of the fertile window, it isn't.
The mechanism is the same as every other presentation on this list: a nervous system responding to perceived stakes. The higher the stakes, the more vigilant the system becomes. This isn't a fertility problem. It isn't a relationship problem. It is a context-specific adrenaline response, and it is entirely addressable once it's named.
This one often goes unrecognised for months, sometimes years. A partner — most commonly in the perimenopause or menopause — develops vaginal dryness or discomfort during penetration. They don't mention it. Perhaps they don't want to add another problem to the situation. Perhaps they assume it will pass. Perhaps they have accommodated it so gradually that they have stopped registering it consciously.
What their partner notices is that they seem less engaged. Encounters are shorter. They initiate less. They avoid certain positions. He interprets this as emotional distance — as reduced attraction, or a sign that something is wrong between them. His body responds to that perceived rejection in the way bodies do: the erection becomes unreliable.
In some cases, the erection difficulty arrives first, and then — as a secondary response — ejaculation becomes faster and harder to control. Both partners are now struggling with something that started as unspoken pain in one of them.
I raise this not to assign blame in either direction, but because naming it is often enough to change the trajectory. These are conversations that happen in my clinic every week. They're difficult to start, and usually straightforward once they begin. If you're reading this as a partner experiencing discomfort during penetration, that deserves its own clinical attention — it's common, it's treatable, and it affects both of you.
Peyronie's disease — the development of scar tissue within the penis causing curvature during erection — affects more men than most people realise, and many of them withdraw from intimacy entirely rather than disclose it to a partner.
The shame tends to outrun the physical problem. A man may be capable of a functional erection but so preoccupied with how the erection looks that the preoccupation itself becomes the obstacle. The monitoring — is it noticeable, will they say something, what will they think — is its own form of the performance loop.
What I have observed in clinical practice, with enough consistency to mention it here, is this: partners almost universally report that the curvature is not the issue for them. The withdrawal is. The avoidance, the reduced affection, the unspoken tension — those are the things that strain intimacy. Not the shape.
If Peyronie's disease is part of your picture, it's worth discussing. There are treatments available, and the conversation itself tends to be a relief. More on Peyronie's disease treatment options here.
For some men, erections are reliable in one specific circumstance: when they've had a few drinks, or have used a particular substance. Sober encounters — or encounters with a partner who doesn't drink — become much more difficult.
This is a conditioned pattern. The substance lowers the threshold for sympathetic activation — it quiets the self-monitoring enough for the erection to occur. Over time, the brain learns the association. Sober sex starts to feel like a different, riskier context, and the body responds accordingly.
I want to be clear: this is not a moral failing and it is not a sign of dependence in a clinical sense. It is a learned neurological pattern, and it can be unlearned. But it does need to be named, because the typical response — trying harder when sober, drinking more to compensate — reinforces the problem rather than addressing it.
Some men notice that the difficulty is not universal — it happens with one partner but not others. Or it happened in a previous relationship and has reappeared in a new one.
This pattern can point in several different directions. Sometimes it reflects specific relational dynamics: unresolved conflict, a shift in attraction, or — occasionally — the aftermath of infidelity or a breach of trust that hasn't been fully addressed. The erection is responding to something the rest of the conversation isn't acknowledging.
Sometimes — and I raise this carefully, not as an assumption but as a clinical reality — it raises questions about sexual orientation or identity that haven't been fully explored. This is more common in younger men, and it doesn't present with a neon sign. It presents as a pattern: consistent difficulty with one type of partner, greater ease with another. If this resonates, it's something I can explore with you in a non-judgemental clinical context.
When men tell me they think pornography has caused their erectile difficulties, I pay attention to the look in their eyes when they say it. Most of them are reading themselves a verdict.
The short version: "porn addiction" is not a recognised clinical diagnosis. What is real is that heavy use of high-intensity pornography can condition the arousal response — the brain learns to associate excitement with a very specific, very high-stimulation context. A real partner may not match that template. This is genuinely reversible, and it is not permanent neurological damage.
When I ask about masturbation in clinic — and I always do — I don't ask whether a patient masturbates. I ask: "When you masturbate, is the erection equal, stronger, or weaker than with a partner?" Most persons masturbate. The answer to that question tells me a great deal about what's actually happening.
For a fuller explanation of the evidence — and why the moral framing often does more harm than the habit itself — see the section below.
In some couples, the context in which sex occurs carries a weight that goes beyond the two individuals in the room. Strict religious or cultural proscriptions around sex before marriage, around the body, or around what sex is for — particularly around reproduction — can create a situation where the erection is expected to carry an enormous symbolic load. This may coincide with vaginismus or significant anxiety in a partner, so that both people are struggling with different expressions of the same underlying tension.
I see this in couples from a wide range of cultural and religious backgrounds. I say this not to pathologise any particular tradition, but because these dynamics are real, they present in a specific way, and they respond well to clinical support that acknowledges the full picture rather than treating it as a purely physical problem.
This one deserves its own entry because it's more common than it sounds, and it's almost never discussed directly.
The moment of reaching for a condom is a pause in the arousal sequence. For most persons, most of the time, it's unremarkable. But for someone whose nervous system is already on heightened alert — a new partner, a first encounter, a context where there is something to prove — that pause is interpreted as a threat signal.
The erection recedes. He tries to resume. The erection doesn't return with the same reliability. The condom, in this scenario, has become associated with failure.
The solution is not to avoid condoms. The solution is to understand that the condom is not the problem — the nervous system's interpretation of the pause is. Practical approaches exist: practising with condoms outside of partnered encounters, reducing the pause itself, or simply demystifying the moment. Short-term pharmacological scaffolding can also be useful while the association is being reset.
The Banker Who Thought Porn Had Ruined Him
He came to see me having already diagnosed himself. He'd read the forums. He'd identified the likely mechanism and had already started what he described as a "reboot." He was about six weeks in.
He was thirty-four. He worked long hours in finance. He was in a new relationship — the first serious one in several years — and was genuinely invested in it. The first time he'd tried to have sex with this partner, the erection had failed. Then again. He had drawn the obvious conclusion: the pornography he'd watched over the years had rewired his brain, and now real sex didn't register.
I took a full history. Solo erections: reliable, firm, consistent. Morning erections: present. Erections in previous relationships: no difficulty. Erections with this partner specifically: absent.
I asked him to describe what the moments before the failure felt like. He described monitoring. Checking. A running commentary in his head: is it there, is it firm enough, is she noticing. He described being more invested in this relationship than any previous one. He described, without quite naming it, the paradox of investment.
There was no PIED. There was no rewired dopamine system. There was a man who cared very much about a person, whose nervous system had converted that caring into threat, and whose brain had then built an associative memory around failure in precisely that context.
We talked through the mechanism. We discussed short-term use of a PDE5 inhibitor — not as a long-term solution, but as scaffolding: something to interrupt the loop long enough to build a different associative memory. I referred him for a few sessions with a psychosexual therapist.
Three months later he came back for a follow-up. He'd stopped the medication after six weeks. Things were fine.
He said: "I wish someone had just explained it to me earlier."
Can only get hard alone
The phrase "can only get hard alone" describes something specific, and it's worth distinguishing from the broader pattern of partner-specific difficulty.
For most persons who find this is the case, the pattern is situational: the erection works reliably in low-stakes, solo contexts and becomes unreliable in higher-stakes, partnered ones. The physiology described above — parasympathetic versus sympathetic, the adrenaline switch — explains this entirely. The underlying vascular and neurological architecture is intact. The pattern is one of context, not of capacity.
When I see this in clinic, I take a full history before drawing any conclusions. The key questions are: how long has this been the case, has it changed over time, and does it apply across all partnered contexts or only specific ones?
If the pattern has been consistent across all partners, all contexts, and for an extended period — particularly if morning erections have also declined — that may warrant a closer look at the underlying vascular picture. A penile Doppler ultrasound may be an appropriate investigation in that scenario, not the default.
For the majority of persons presenting this way, especially those under 45 without significant cardiovascular risk factors, this is a psychogenic pattern with a clear pathway through it.
On pornography — without the condemnation
"Porn addiction" is not a diagnosis. This is not a controversial claim — it is the position of the two major psychiatric classification systems currently in use. DSM-5 explicitly rejected Hypersexual Disorder as a category in 2013. The ICD-11 introduced Compulsive Sexual Behaviour Disorder — a narrower behavioural control disorder rather than an addiction construct — which covers a significantly more limited range of presentations than "porn addiction" implies.
The research of Grubbs and colleagues has shown consistently that the distress people experience about their pornography use correlates more strongly with moral or religious conflict about that use than with the frequency or intensity of use itself. In other words: many persons who believe they are addicted are not experiencing addiction — they are experiencing guilt. That distinction matters, because it changes the clinical pathway entirely.
What is worth discussing clinically is whether arousal has become conditional on a very specific type of stimulation — and whether that conditioning is interfering with partnered sex. This is a reversible pattern. It does not reflect permanent neurological damage. It does not make you a bad person. It is a habit of the brain, not a verdict on your character.
If you've spent time on forums being told that your dopamine receptors are fried and you need ninety days of abstinence before anything will improve, I'd invite you to bring that to a clinical conversation. There may be a simpler, more accurate, and more useful explanation for what you're experiencing.
It used to work fine — what's changed?
This question comes up often in the context of longer-term relationships: men who had no difficulty for years and have begun to notice a change.
The first thing to establish is whether the change is gradual or sudden, and whether it is global or contextual. A gradual, global decline in erectile quality — less firm erections across all situations, including first thing in the morning — warrants investigation for organic causes: vascular health, testosterone, medication review, metabolic factors. This is not a reason to catastrophise, but it is a reason to have a proper conversation with a clinician rather than attributing everything to stress.
A change that is contextual — still reliable in some situations but not others, or associated with a specific shift in the relationship — points toward the psychological and relational patterns described on this page. Relationship fatigue, unresolved conflict, a loss of novelty that was never replaced with something else, or a significant life event that changed the emotional atmosphere between two people: all of these manifest in the bedroom before they are named elsewhere.
Sometimes the relationship is the diagnosis. This isn't a criticism of either person. It's a clinical observation, and it opens a different set of conversations.
What actually helps
I am not going to tell you to relax. If relaxing on command were possible in this context, the problem wouldn't exist.
Understanding the mechanism is not optional. Most persons who present with this pattern have been given one of two unhelpful responses: "it's psychological" (which they hear as "it's not real") or "try not to think about it" (which is neurologically incoherent advice). Understanding what is actually happening — the SNS override, the adrenaline pathway, the self-monitoring loop — is itself therapeutic. It replaces catastrophising with a mechanical explanation. That shift matters.
Psychosexual therapy works. Cognitive-behavioural approaches adapted for sexual anxiety, sensate focus exercises, and couples-based therapy all have a reasonable evidence base. I work with psychosexual therapists and refer regularly. This is not a soft option — it's the appropriate clinical pathway for most presentations on this page.
Medication as scaffolding, not solution. PDE5 inhibitors — sildenafil, tadalafil — are not the answer to psychogenic ED, but they can be useful in a specific way: they enhance the nitric oxide pathway, making erections easier to achieve and maintain, which can allow a different associative memory to form. Once that memory is established, the medication becomes unnecessary. I sometimes use this approach in combination with therapy. I'm transparent about what it is and what it isn't.
Communication, done carefully. Having a conversation with a partner about what's happening — not in the moment, not as a crisis, but from a calmer vantage point — tends to reduce the load on the erection rather than add to it. The erection problem is often maintaining itself partly through silence.
If your GP told you it's just anxiety — what to say next
Being told "it's just anxiety" without further investigation is frustrating, and sometimes it's also clinically incomplete. Here's how to navigate that conversation.
A reasonable first-line GP response includes a brief but proper sexual history (onset, pattern, context), baseline blood tests — morning testosterone, fasting glucose, lipid profile, blood pressure — a discussion of psychological and psychosexual pathways if a clear organic cause is unlikely, and a referral if you want one, or if the picture is unclear.
If your GP has offered none of this, it's reasonable to go back and say: "I'd like to understand whether there's a physical component to this. Can we run some baseline blood tests — testosterone, glucose, lipids — and discuss a referral to a urologist or sexual medicine specialist?"
You do not need to justify this request. It is a standard part of a proper ED workup.
NHS pathways: a GP referral to a urologist or sexual medicine clinic via NHS is a legitimate route. Waiting times vary, but the pathway exists. Self-referral to a specialist urologist is also possible without a GP letter. Both options are valid. The goal is to get a proper picture, not to be managed with a generic diagnosis that closes the conversation.
The most common explanation is that the nervous system is in a different state in each context. Solo erections occur in a low-stakes environment: no evaluation, no possibility of disappointing anyone. The parasympathetic nervous system — which drives erections — operates freely. With a partner, particularly one you care about, the sympathetic system can activate: adrenaline is released, blood vessels constrict, and the erection either doesn't arrive or doesn't sustain. This is a context-specific response, not a permanent deficit. It is also one of the most consistent patterns I see in clinic, and one of the most treatable. If this has been the case across all partnered contexts for an extended period, with morning erections also declining, it's worth ruling out an organic contribution with a proper clinical assessment.
Yes, directly and through a clear physiological mechanism. Anxiety activates the sympathetic nervous system. The sympathetic state — the one designed for fight-or-flight responses — is chemically incompatible with erection, which requires parasympathetic dominance and the release of nitric oxide to relax the smooth muscle in the penis. This is not a matter of willpower or mental strength. It is neurochemistry. The erection fails because the body has been placed into a state in which erections are physiologically inappropriate. Understanding this — that the failure is a sign your nervous system is working correctly, not that it's broken — is often the beginning of improvement.
It depends on what you mean by "causing." A pattern of heavy pornography use can condition the arousal response to a specific type of stimulation, making it more difficult to respond to a different one. This is reversible. It is not the same as permanent neurological damage. "Porn addiction" is not a recognised clinical diagnosis. If your distress about your pornography use is more about guilt or moral conflict than about the actual frequency or content, that distinction matters — and it changes the clinical pathway. If you notice that your erections are reliable during pornography use but unreliable with a partner across all contexts, that pattern is worth discussing with a clinician. It usually has a straightforward explanation.
Not in the moment, and not as a crisis. The conversation is most useful when both people are calm, not in a sexual context, and approaching it with curiosity rather than blame. A starting point: "I want to talk about something that's been affecting me, and I think it would help to talk about it together rather than around it." From there: naming the pattern, explaining the mechanism if that feels useful, and making it clear that the problem is not about them — that, in fact, your investment in this relationship is probably part of what's driving it. Partners often experience significant relief when they understand what's happening. The silence tends to generate worse explanations than the truth.
If the pattern has persisted for more than a few weeks, is causing you significant distress, or is affecting a relationship, it's worth a clinical conversation. Earlier is better — the loop is easier to interrupt before it becomes deeply established. If you also notice any of the following, a clinical assessment is important regardless of duration: absence or significant reduction of morning erections, a gradual rather than sudden onset, significant cardiovascular risk factors (diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol, smoking), or new medications that may be relevant. A urologist or sexual medicine specialist can help distinguish a psychogenic pattern from an organic contribution, and advise accordingly.
Yes. Both acute stress and chronic background anxiety elevate sympathetic nervous system activity and cortisol levels. Both are directly incompatible with the physiological state required for an erection. Chronic stress affects erectile function in several overlapping ways: it raises baseline sympathetic tone, disrupts sleep (which affects testosterone and morning erections), can reduce libido independently, and creates a general state in which the body is oriented toward threat-management rather than rest-and-repair. Treating the underlying stress or anxiety is often as important as any urological intervention.
Find your pathway
Which pattern sounds like yours?
Fine alone — not with a new partner
Most likely the paradox of investment and the performance loop. The physiology and the pathway are well understood.
Works in some contexts but not others
There may be a specific relational or contextual driver worth exploring. A clinical conversation can help map it.
Becoming unreliable across the board — even alone
This pattern warrants closer investigation of the vascular picture before anything else.
Not sure what's happening — or where to start?
A single consultation is enough to map the pattern, rule out the things that need ruling out, and give you a clear clinical picture. You won't be handed a prescription and shown the door.
World Health Organization. International Classification of Diseases, 11th Revision (ICD-11). Code 6C72: Compulsive Sexual Behaviour Disorder. Geneva: WHO; 2022.
Source:ICD.WHO.INT
Salonia A, Bettocchi C, Boeri L, et al. EAU Guidelines on Sexual and Reproductive Health. European Association of Urology. 2024.
Source:UROWEB.ORG
American Psychiatric Association. Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition (DSM-5). Washington, DC: American Psychiatric Publishing; 2013.
Source:PSYCHIATRY.ORG
World Health Organization. International Classification of Diseases, 11th Revision (ICD-11). Code 6C72: Compulsive Sexual Behaviour Disorder. Geneva: WHO; 2022.
Source:ICD.WHO.INT
Salonia A, Bettocchi C, Boeri L, et al. EAU Guidelines on Sexual and Reproductive Health. European Association of Urology. 2024.
Source:UROWEB.ORG
Kraus SW et al. Controversies about hypersexual disorder and the DSM-5. Curr Sex Health Rep. 2014;6(4):259–64. doi: 10.1007/s11930-014-0031-9
Source:LINK.SPRINGER.COM
Kraus SW, Krueger RB, Briken P, et al. Compulsive sexual behaviour disorder in the ICD-11. World Psychiatry. 2018;17(1):109–110. doi: 10.1002/wps.20499
Source:PMC.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Perry SL. Moral incongruence and pornography use: a critical review and integration. J Sex Res. 2019;56(1):29–37. doi: 10.1080/00224499.2018.1427204. PMID: 29412013.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Perry SL, Wilt JA, Reid RC. Pornography problems due to moral incongruence: an integrative model with a systematic review and meta-analysis. Arch Sex Behav. 2019;48(2):397–415. doi: 10.1007/s10508-018-1248-x. PMID: 30076491.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Gola M. Is pornography use related to erectile functioning? Results from cross-sectional and latent growth curve analyses. J Sex Med. 2019;16(1):111–125. doi: 10.1016/j.jsxm.2018.11.004. PMID: 30621919.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Kraus SW et al. Controversies about hypersexual disorder and the DSM-5. Curr Sex Health Rep. 2014;6(4):259–64. doi: 10.1007/s11930-014-0031-9
Source:LINK.SPRINGER.COM
Kraus SW, Krueger RB, Briken P, et al. Compulsive sexual behaviour disorder in the ICD-11. World Psychiatry. 2018;17(1):109–110. doi: 10.1002/wps.20499
Source:PMC.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Perry SL. Moral incongruence and pornography use: a critical review and integration. J Sex Res. 2019;56(1):29–37. doi: 10.1080/00224499.2018.1427204. PMID: 29412013.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Perry SL, Wilt JA, Reid RC. Pornography problems due to moral incongruence: an integrative model with a systematic review and meta-analysis. Arch Sex Behav. 2019;48(2):397–415. doi: 10.1007/s10508-018-1248-x. PMID: 30076491.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Grubbs JB, Gola M. Is pornography use related to erectile functioning? Results from cross-sectional and latent growth curve analyses. J Sex Med. 2019;16(1):111–125. doi: 10.1016/j.jsxm.2018.11.004. PMID: 30621919.
Source:PUBMED.NCBI.NLM.NIH.GOV
Further Readings
Emily Nagoski — Come As You Are (revised ed. 2021)
Source:SIMONANDSCHUSTER.COM
Emily Nagoski — Come Together (2024)
Source:PENGUIN.CO.UK
COSRT — College of Sexual and Relationship Therapists
Source:COSRT.ORG.UK
Relate Charity UK per supporto relazionale e consulenza di coppia.
Source:RELATE.ORG.UK
Emily Nagoski — Come As You Are (revised ed. 2021)
Source:SIMONANDSCHUSTER.COM
Emily Nagoski — Come Together (2024)
Source:PENGUIN.CO.UK
COSRT — College of Sexual and Relationship Therapists
Source:COSRT.ORG.UK
Relate Charity UK per supporto relazionale e consulenza di coppia.
