Who Burns More in Bed — The Rich or The Poor? The Hidden Cost of Sex and the Reality of Aging Nigerian Men

By Mogaji Wole Arisekola

Whenever I’m in Abuja, I always make time to visit my friend of 20 years, Barrister Moljengo Kaltungo — a die-hard Arsenal fan and a man with stories that could light up any room.

Although born in the quiet village of Kaltungo, he spent nearly half of his life working at the NDCC before retiring, quite meticulously, as the company secretary last year.

Whenever we meet, our conversations always find their way into three familiar territories: the streets, the sheets, and the silent price men pay in the pursuit of pleasure.

In Nigeria today, whether you’re at a pepper soup joint, a bustling barbershop, or lazily scrolling your phone on a Sunday afternoon, one timeless debate never dies:

Who has more sex — the rich or the poor?

The rich, no doubt, have the luxury advantage — five-star hotels, plush apartments, discreet hideouts, and slay queens just a phone call away. They have options. Plenty of them.

But don’t write off the poor just yet. They may lack overflowing bank accounts, but they’re overflowing with raw, unfiltered desire. They don’t need a Hilton suite. Just a quiet corner, a mattress on the floor, and a willing partner. Game on.

Yet beyond the question of who’s doing it more lies the deeper, more urgent one:

Who’s paying more?

Medically speaking, each round of sex taxes a man’s body. It’s not just moaning and groaning. A man loses blood sugar, burns calories, and sees his protein levels drop. In fact, one good session can drain up to 15% of his natural energy. No wonder some brothers walk out of the bedroom looking like survivors of a spiritual attack — dizzy, disoriented, and dangerously dehydrated.

The woman, by contrast? She loses a mere splash of body water — maybe five percent. That’s all. While you’re gasping for breath and seeing stars, she’s already back on Instagram like nothing happened.

So when she starts shouting, “Harder! Faster! Don’t stop!” — my brother, press pause. Take a deep breath. Ask yourself: Is your energy intact? Is your bank account still breathing? Because after the fireworks comes the cold reality — biological and financial.

Let’s break it down:

There’s the prepaid package — drinks, airtime, shawarma, Uber rides, and those ever-demanding data bundles.
Then comes the postpaid surprise — pregnancy scare money, emergency hospital bills, and those 2 a.m. bank alerts with the classic message: “Baby, I can’t sleep.”

A pharmacist friend once joked that one round of good sex can burn nutrients equivalent to a month’s worth of balanced meals. Imagine eating like a king for 30 days, only to lose it all in 15 reckless minutes. What a nutritional tragedy.

With all these hidden costs, maybe men should start demanding their own version of a maintenance allowance. Women claim emotional compensation — why can’t men ask for something in return for physical exhaustion?

Let’s say it loud: Men’s Lives Matter Too.

Now, let’s leave the bedroom and look into the mirror. The truth never hides. Once you cross forty, everything changes. You wake up and hear your joints creak like old furniture. You look in the mirror and see the slow fade of youthful glow. Life begins to whisper one word: “Adjust.”

If you’re over forty and still living like a 25-year-old — binge drinking, skipping sleep, clubbing till sunrise, eating late, and stressing your system — you’re not just living recklessly. You’re digging your own grave with a fork and a bottle.

At that age, moderation isn’t optional — it’s survival. Drink, but drink wisely. Eat, but eat clean. Rest — and stop cheating your body in the name of flexing.

Your organs are aging. Your heart is no longer Superman. Your liver needs support. Your body is calling for backup, and the name of that backup is exercise.
Walk. Stretch. Move. Break a sweat — at least three times a week.

Oro re oo, eyin eniyan mi. (This is my word, my people.)

Mogaji Wole Arisekola writes from Ibadan.