In my practice as a sex and couples therapist, I work with many couples who come to me wanting to restore a sense of safety around the penis. Women describe anxiety about penetration and unease with their partner’s male body during sex. For some, these feelings intensified or emerged after October 7 and during the ensuing years of war and political, economic and security uncertainty.
Men also come to me with complicated feelings about their penis, including performance anxiety and premature ejaculation, or candid statements such as: “I wish my penis weren’t there. I do perfectly well with my fingers. It just gets in the way.”
His sexual male body became threatening and triggering for her
(Photo: Shutterstock)
The testicles as an unfamiliar part of the male body
We have become accustomed to treating the penis as the sole male sexual organ, while the testicles have become a part of the male body that has simply disappeared from view. In my work as a teacher of sexual development and a therapist, I have found the testicles to be a valuable space for sexual rehabilitation and for addressing trauma and sexuality among women, men and couples. In workshops I have led on becoming more comfortable with male sexuality, women described them as soft, rounded and, above all, nonthreatening.
They know there are good men and safe penises. Some have even married a man who is their friend. But memories of other men can still cause their bodies to contract. Ultimately, their partner’s penis may remind them of acts of force and violence committed by other men.
Zohara Treistman Photo: Keren ShalevAssaf, a pseudonym, came to me for therapy with a difficult experience: He increasingly feels guilty in bed. He says his wife physically recoils from his genitals. She can tell him that it stems from sexual harm inflicted by other men, but the experiences become intertwined for her. As a result, his sexual male body has become threatening and triggering for her.
Other women I have worked with who have post-traumatic stress have acknowledged that even the thought of resting their head in their partner’s lap, near his groin or on his thigh, filled them with dread because they immediately associated it with proximity to the penis and with an expectation being placed on them — as though a male body automatically meant penetration.
That is why I would like to suggest dialogue and touch involving the testicles as an important gateway. Testicles do not threaten femininity. They may not be glamorous, but they are certainly not frightening. They have not assaulted women throughout history. For many women, touching them feels intuitive — soft, playful and gentle.
I see how experiences of touching the testicles can be perceived as safe and intimate, giving women in therapeutic processes a greater sense of presence and choice. The experience can create a sense of security, from which it may become possible to expand into other kinds of touch involving the penis, where everything can feel much more intense and charged.
'Testicular masculinity'
We all grew up with the dictates of the “phallus”: A “real man” is a man with a penis that is always ready for action. He conquers, he is strong, he always performs and proves himself, and he is muscular and attractive.
Traditional, phallocentric masculinity has remarkable qualities and gifts. In my view, we still need them in 2026, when we are already well into the era of a new sexuality.
Still, it is only one model. When men try to describe themselves as sensitive, saying, for example, that they are not interested in hookups and cultivate friendships built around deep conversations, they may describe themselves as “feminine” and feel emasculated alongside the stereotypical “real man” at the office. In my experience, such internal perceptions can contribute to problems with male sexual functioning.
That is why I suggest that men, and the women who live with them, think of these qualities as “testicular masculinity.” Not a “man with a womb,” as one of my students suggested, but sensitive qualities that arise from within the male body, without the need to borrow feminine characteristics or female anatomy.
In the limited research literature that exists, the testicles are represented as a site associated with vulnerability — perhaps because when a man is afraid, they respond by drawing closer to the base of the penis. In Kabbalistic thought, the testicles are associated with the divine attributes of Netzach and Hod. Both are linked to biblical figures — Moses and Aaron, the brothers who led the people of Israel toward redemption early in the nation’s history.
During Sukkot, there is a tradition of inviting an ushpizin — Aramaic for guest — into the sukkah each evening. As the holiday progresses, Jewish tradition invites the qualities associated with these two figures into our lives. Moses represents Netzach and Aaron represents Hod. It is interesting to consider that inside a sukkah intended to create a space of compassion and peace, there is also room to honor “testicular masculinity.”
A suggestion for couples
The male partner lies on his back with his feet on the bed and his knees raised, creating a bent position that allows access to the groin. The other partner places their palms on the scrotum. When the man is not sexually aroused, the scrotum will be relaxed and more accessible to touch. The partner can begin with gentle strokes and light scratching, followed by a kind of penetrative motion: The woman breathes and, as she exhales, gently moves three fingers inward.
The aim is to find the empty area of the scrotum rather than directly touching the testicles themselves. It is a slow and unusual movement that allows for a reversal of traditional gender roles. The woman practices attentiveness to the man; here, she is the one “penetrating.” She creates a safe space, because for many men the testicles are considered off-limits to touch. They are associated with castration anxiety. It is no coincidence that many languages have developed slang expressions along the lines of “she has him by the balls.”
For the man, this offers an opportunity to receive sexual touch without having to perform and to experience a quiet form of surrender. Not feminine surrender, but masculine surrender.
- Zohara Treistman is a sex and couples therapist and workshop facilitator, a sexuality theorist and the developer of a cultural-therapeutic approach to masculinity-informed sexuality.